


Loving You Less Than Life, Part III

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Series: Loving You Less Than Life series by Kadru [3]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, First Times, M/M, Other: See Story Notes, Romance, Series: The Redemption Project 57, h/c, other pairing - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-05-03
Updated: 1999-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-11 03:25:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 44,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/793479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim must win Blair's heart before his guide falls in love with someone else, but something from his past may not let him live long enough to do it.<br/>This story is a sequel to Loving You Less Than Life, Part II.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Due to length, this story has been split into three parts.

## Loving You Less Than Life III

By Kadru

Author's homepage: <http://www.mindspring.com/~kadru/index.html>

Disclaimers: I make no financial claims to Jim, Blair, Simon, yada yada because they're owned by UPN and Pet Fly. Please don't sue. I'm just taking them out to play with. I will put them back where I found them. 

Summary: Jim must win Blair's heart before his guide falls in love with someone else, but something from his past may not let him live long enough to do it. 

Warnings: NC-17. Explicit sex, extreme language. Death scene of a minor character. 

* * *

As promised, on this anniversary of Stonewall, here is the final installment of Loving You Less Than Life. We've had temps of 103 degrees today, and I've been out all afternoon standing up to show my pride. If I do or say something screwy, please excuse me! It's the heat! 

I have the best, most incredible, most wonderful betas in the entire world -- Rie, Ozy, and Russ. They are much, much too wonderful! I will light a candle for them, because I wouldn't have been able to do this without their help. 

Other thank you's and acknowledgements go out to: Annie, Emily Brunson (I hope you get to read this before you move!), Chachi (for the hot water heater idea), Kari (for the knight in shining armor idea), and Sallye (for convincing me to do two erotic scenes instead of one). Wolfine, I'm thinking of using your idea in the next installment! 

Thanks to everyone who sent me notes of encouragement. I can honestly say that I might not have finished it without some of y'all's well-timed notes! Thank you!!! 

So, without further ado, the curtain opens . . . 

* * *

Blair stepped into his friend Collin's office without knocking, then halted abruptly when he saw a student sitting there with him. Collin, a teaching fellow but with the English department, glanced up, smiled briefly, and winked one of his sharp green eyes at Blair before looking back at the student. The student noticed something had changed, turned around and recognized Blair. "Professor Sandburg, hi." Blair just waved. He remembered the student from one of his anthropology intro classes. 

Collin took the opportunity to gain control of a conversation he had lost moments before Blair had walked in. "Steve," he began in a rich, lowland southern accent. "You seem to have a strong grasp of the what the critics have to say about Flannery O'Connor's work, and if you turn this in to Dr. Richland, he'll give you a high B." 

"But I've got to have an A," Steve whined. 

"And I know this," he said in an almost maternal voice. Blair listened while Collin explained his reasons and pointed out the weak areas. As he did, Blair couldn't help but note how polite Collin seemed to be when the student argued with him. He wasn't quite sure he would have been so gracious. After the student left, Collin stood and threw his backpack over his shoulder. He stood eye to eye with Blair, with a slim swimmer's body and long, wavy reddish-blond hair. He scratched at his trimmed beard and said, "Sorry 'bout that, Blair." 

"No problem." 

"I was fixing to leave when the kid showed up." 

"Fixing to?" 

Collin rolled his eyes. "Don't even try and make fun of me." 

"Nice job with Steve," Blair said to change the subject. 

"He's a good kid. 'Kid.' Listen to me. He's only 10 years younger than us. He didn't have sense enough not to take Dr. Richland's southern literature class. And he needs to get a high enough GPA to look good on his grad school apps. So I'm helping him out." 

"Steve's gay, isn't he?" Blair asked. 

Collin stopped. "And just what are you implying?" 

Blair flashed a grin. "Nothing. Nothing. Come on. I'm starving." 

As they walked into the hallway, Collin added. "I can't believe I'm finally getting to go to lunch with the infamous Blair Sandburg." 

"Man, I said I was sorry." 

"Yeah, yeah. I'm the sorry ass who keeps asking you out, even after you canceled on me the last _six_ times." 

"Dude, I am like so sorry. What with classes and research --" 

"You never canceled on me for that." 

"Okay, okay, I kept getting called to a crime scene." 

Collin just laughed as they stepped outside into the cold winter air. 

"Where to?" Blair asked. 

"Don't care. Something cheap and something fried." 

"You want to drive somewhere?" 

"Nah. One of us would just have to carry the other back. Besides, I'm outta gas." 

"I can loan you some money--" 

"Stop right there. I appreciate the offer, but a good southerner is never beholden to someone when he can help it. How about that greasy spoon on the corner of 5th and Elm?" 

"Sure." 

"So how are you, Blair?" 

"I'm all right." 

"No, how _are_ you?" 

"Seriously. I'm all right." 

"Good. I worried about you after all that happened last year. I know that . . ." He paused. "That you and Jack McClairy were seeing each other." Collin leaned in close. "And I always wanted you to play for our team." Blair smiled. As Collin leaned back, he added, "I really got worried for you." 

"I'm okay. Things were bad for a while, but I'm better." 

"Have you started dating again?" 

"Are you asking?" Blair teased. 

"Would I even stand a chance?" Collin responded just as lightly. 

"Yeah, I just started dating again." 

"Guy or girl?" 

"Guy. He's a doctor. Really cute." 

"A doctor, huh? What ever happened to that cop I kept hearing rumors about?" 

"Rumors?" 

"Didn't y'all go out?" 

"He's my roommate, and my partner. And, no, we aren't dating." 

"Damn shame. He's the big one with the brown buzz cut, right?" 

"Have you been watching us?" 

"Blair, I am southern. Gossip is in my nature." 

"Fine, then, are you dating someone?" 

Collin growled, then said, "Not at the present moment." He shifted his backpack onto his other shoulder. "So, taking that to heart, I've been meaning to ask you." 

"I knew there was a reason you kept trying to get me out to lunch lately." 

"Yes, well . . . as you know, I'm the president of the grad students' chapter of the Gay, Lesbian and Bi Students Union." 

"Yes." 

"I wanted to feel you out about getting more involved with our group." 

"Why me?" 

"Because whenever we meet with the undergrads, all they talk about is you. It would mean a lot to these kids if you would come out." 

"Oh, I don't know about that, Collin." 

"Why not?" 

"I have Jim to think of." 

"Jim?" 

"My cop roommate? The one in all the rumors?" 

"Jim seems like a big ol' boy who can take care of himself. Besides, didn't you just say he was straight?" 

"Collin, I said we weren't dating. I didn't say he was straight." 

"Ah, then he is gay. Oh well, been there, dated that. I can see why you've been so discrete. . . Still, I would think _you_ could be just a little more open." 

"Let me think about it." 

* * *

At 3 a.m., Jim entered the loft tired after waiting up for his stake out to pay off, then chasing a suspect down two city blocks in the dark, avoiding garbage cans and the sleeping homeless with his heightened vision. Now he was too wound up to go to bed. But as he walked in, he saw Blair at the kitchen table, humped over a pile of exam booklets. "Chief? What are you doing up so late?" 

"Grading papers." 

"It's almost morning." 

"Jim, it is morning," Blair said while rubbing his eyes. 

Walking behind his guide to the refrigerator, Jim pulled out a beer, then stood over him. It had been a full week since he had promised himself that he would try to win Blair's affection away from his current boyfriend, the charismatic and handsome neurologist, Ian Yoshito. "Chief, you need to get some sleep. What time is your next class?" 

"I don't have class, but I do have to have these done and into the registrar's office by 9 a.m." He let out a defeated sigh. "I can't get all this done by then." 

Jim put down his beer and reached for Blair's shoulders. /You feel so good, Blair,/ Jim thought as he squeezed his flesh between his fingers. /So good./ 

Blair closed his eyes and began to drift in the pleasure of Jim's massage. When he started to see visions in his head, the thought that he was dreaming startled him awake. "Whoa, Jim, stop. You're putting me to sleep." 

"Sorry. What can I do to help you?" 

Blair turned to face him with one eyebrow cocked. "Huh?" 

"What can I do to help out?" Jim sat down in the chair beside him. 

"Jim, no offense, man, but you can't grade these exams." 

"And who would want to? But can I write down the grades or something? You taught me Word and Excel at work." 

Blair just stared at him for a few minutes, not really thinking but feeling the emotions in his chest. /Damn, this is a surprise./ "There's a program that the registrar uses. Do you know Access?" Jim looked up with a disappointed expression and shook his head. But his guide didn't want to turn him away. "It's not hard to learn. Here--" Blair turned his laptop around and pointed to the screen. "Just put the student's social security number here, and the system should pull up the rest. I've loaded everyone in already. Then tab down and put in their grade." 

"Which is here, right?" Jim asked, pointing to the cover of one of the exam booklets. 

"Yeah." 

Blair watched as Jim pulled a stack of graded papers closer to him. Slowly, with a hunt and peck motion, he began loading the grades into Blair's laptop. After a while, Jim looked up and saw Blair watching him. "Chief, keep working." 

"Aren't you tired, big guy?" 

"Kinda, but I can't go to sleep right now." He looked up again and made eye contact. " _This_ should put me to sleep. Now get cracking so we can both go to bed." 

Blair stared at him for a few minutes longer, then smiled. /Damn. I wasn't expecting this,/ he thought as he returned to his exams. A little while later, Blair looked up again to see Jim focusing on his typing. Two weeks ago he had confessed to Blair that he was in love with him but that he wasn't ready to act on his feelings. Blair thought their life was about to get very awkward, but Jim seemed more relaxed, almost romantic. /Romantic? Jim Ellison? Hardly./ 

Jim casually glanced up, then he smiled gently and repeated, "Keep working, Chief." 

* * *

At seven that morning, Blair connected into the university's server and posted his grades. With a soft pat on his shoulder, Jim whispered to Blair, "Good job. Now go to bed." 

Sometime later that afternoon, Blair stumbled out of his bedroom when the smell of coffee and food woke him up. He saw Jim sitting at the table, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper. Jim asked Blair point blank as he sat down, "Hey, Chief, I've been meaning to ask you this, but I keep forgeting. Are you still working on your dissertation?" 

Blair examined his fingernails for a moment before confessing, "No, not really, not since Jack died." 

"Oh . . . are you going to?" 

"I guess so. I've been putting off my advisor for a while, showing him stuff I wrote a long time ago, but I think he's starting to figure it out." 

"Don't forget about Tom." 

"You mean the monk?" 

"Yeah." 

"No, I haven't forgotten about him." 

"I've been visiting him, off and on," Jim said. "Well, I haven't been to see him all winter. He used to ask about you. You should go see him once the weather turns nice. A trip through their gardens would do you a world of good. It always helps me." 

* * *

As Blair was leaving the university shortly after lunch, he opened the door to his office and saw Ian walking down the hall with a heavy coat and a small overnight bag in his hands. "Whoa, Ian, what are you doing here?" 

"Not much time, Blair," he said in his formal British accent, handing him both the coat and the bag. They were brand new. 

"Wait. These aren't mine." 

"I know. I just bought them." 

Blair tried to hand them back. "Ian, I thought we had discussed this." 

"I know. And when all is said and done, you can give them back to me." 

"I'm confused. What's going on here?" 

"We don't have time to go back to your flat for you to pack." 

"Pack? Where are we going?" 

"I'm kidnapping you, Blair. A friend of mine just gave me the keys to his suite at a ski resort in Banff. The plane's waiting." 

* * *

"Hey, Jim?" Simon called out as he stepped from his office. "Come on. It's Miller time." 

Jim was on the phone, but he covered the speaker with his hand to say, "Rain check." 

"Rain check? Jim, it's Friday." 

"Yeah, that's right," Jim said into the phone, then back to Simon, "Sorry. I got plans for tonight." Jim smiled, then winked. 

"Since when does Jim Ellison have _plans_?" Then Simon laughed. "Jim Ellison's _plans_ only happen once in a blue moon. Guess I'll be cashing in that rain check _next_ Friday." 

Jim finished placing the take-out order, thinking back to his conversation with Blair that morning. "Hey, Chief," he had asked, "what are you doing tonight?" 

"Nothing, I expect," he had said, "Guess I'll go home and rest up." 

Jim hung up the phone. /Now this is going to take Darwin by surprise./ 

* * *

By the time Ian and Blair had landed in the small, regional airport outside of Banff, the two of them had only a few hours to get to the resort, stow their luggage, then head out to the ski shop to rent equipment in time to take one pass down the slope before the sun set. At first Blair was a little put out that Ian wouldn't let him go by the loft. He even made Blair use his cell phone to leave Jim a message as they rushed to his BMW. Then the money started to bother him \-- Ian had bought enough clothes to last until Monday, expensive clothes. And then there was the cost of the Cessna jet Ian had chartered. But as the jet descended through the cloud layer, Ian leaned over to give Blair a soft kiss on the cheek. This simple act of affection, as well as the sudden openness of the Canadian valley below him, covered in snow, sparked that adrenalin rush in Blair that Ian loved so much. He was buzzing with energy by the time the plane landed. 

At the ski shop, Blair hurriedly picked out a ski suit, then grabbed gear. Ian couldn't help but grin at his enthusiasm. "When was the last time you went skiing?" 

"January last year. Jim and I went out. I haven't gone all year. I was so afraid, what with spring coming, that I wouldn't get to ski at all this year." 

"I took a gamble on this, you know? I didn't know if you liked to ski or not." Ian headed toward the ski lift to buy their lift tickets. 

"I don't know what it is about skiing, man. I mean, I like hate the cold so much, but when it comes to snow. Man, snow is like so cool!" He twisted his head to maintain eye contact with Ian as he started to step down from the covered walk and onto the snow. "You just wait until you see me. I am like king skier." 

He stepped onto the first riser, not even noticing the patch of ice there. 

When he walked on it, he felt the skidding sensation start in his chest as his spine jerked with a nauseating twist. Then the cold, wrenching pain grabbed his ankle as his body tumbled down the wooden steps and into the snow. 

* * *

The door gave Jim some problems as he shifted sacks from one hand to the next until finally he placed them down so that he could unlock it. He had everything for tonight in the sacks he carried: a bottle of red wine that he had heard Blair say was his favorite and take-out from a Malaysian restaurant that Blair really liked. Jim didn't care that much for this one particular dish that Blair had raved over, but he ordered it anyway. And he had run by the public market near the waterfront to pick up a bouquet of yellow roses. 

Once inside, the packages started to rebel again, and Jim juggled them back and forth until finally he tossed the mail and newspapers onto the end table beside the couch, covering everything on the table, including the answering machine. /Wouldn't Blair get a kick out of that mess? I should leave it for him to see./ 

Jim didn't notice the answering machine's flashing light. 

First he opened the bottle of wine to breathe, then he began to pull out the food, pouring it into nicer bowls and setting them in the oven to stay warm. He couldn't help but smile and get excited as he moved around the kitchen, making their dinner. /Our dinner. Blair said he'd be at the U until 6. He should be home any minute./ Jim reached into the upper cabinets to find the wine glasses as well as the plates to begin setting the table. With the plates in his hands, he looked at the table, and decided to go one step further and pull out the white tablecloth. 

Six o'clock gave way to seven. Jim stood in the kitchen, worried when Blair hadn't come home yet. He stared at the flickering candles which were growing shorter and shorter, before blowing them out. After fifteen more minutes, Jim gave up on waiting and decided to try to find him. First he tried the U and got Blair' voice mail, but Jim didn't leave a message. Then he tried Blair' cell phone. "We're sorry," the automated voice spoke, "the party you are dialing is outside of our calling range. Please try your call again." 

At 7:30, Jim, frustrated, flopped down on the sofa, disappointment gnawing at him even as he told himself, /Blair is coming. Blair will be here. Just be patient./ 

He leaned over to pick up a magazine from the day's mail, and when he uncovered the answering machine and saw the blinking light, he froze. He knew it was a message from Blair. He didn't have to hear it. A heavy sigh fell from him as slowly, defeated, he pressed play. 

"Jim? Blair. Listen, I didn't know if you had anything planned tonight with Simon or not since it's Friday, but I still thought I'd call you so you wouldn't wait up. Ian's high-jacking me to go skiing in Banff over the weekend. We're rushing to the airport, now. Can't talk more. Have a good weekend, big guy, and I'll see you Monday afternoon." 

Standing motionless, Jim stared forward in shock for a few minutes before he sucked in a heavy breath. /He's not coming,/ he finally said to himself. /He's not coming./ Slowly he could feel his enthusiasm for the evening crumble into dismay. With leaden feet, he approached the table to stare down at all the food and wine he had bought. /Damnit, he's not coming. He's not coming./ Reluctantly, he began to gather up the silverware and the plates, each movement of his hands pulling down on him in his chest. /I . . . I got us dinner. It was going to be so nice. I had it all planned. This just isn't fair./ He picked up a wine glass, and in a split second his bitter disappointment sparked into rage. "It's not fair!" he shouted as he flung the goblet against the wall. 

The glass burst into sparkling diamond points with a sound crisp and final, leaving the loft so quiet afterwards that Jim could hear only his rapid heartbeats and quick breathing. Listening to his body calmed him a little until Jim could finally say, "Great. Now you have no Blair, and no wine glass." With the enthusiasm of an automaton, Jim finished clearing the dishes and storing the food in the refrigerator. 

* * *

Blair sat in the plush chair near the fire, huddled under a blanket, while a pack of ice lay draped across his ankle. He was clearly unhappy, with his shoulders hunched and a scowl on his face. "I don't see why I can't soak this thing in hot water." 

The tone of Ian's voice belied the fact that he had explained this already. "We need to get the swelling down." 

"It's not broken." 

"No," Ian said as he knelt down beside Blair. "And nothing's torn or strained. You just twisted it, that's all." And then he snickered before covering his mouth with his hand. 

Blair shot back, "You ass." 

"I'm sorry, Blair. I don't mean to laugh." Ian squeezed his mouth in odd contortions to remove his smile. 

"This is like so not helping." 

"Blair, this happens a lot, really it does. Everyone who skis eventually twists their ankle." When Blair rolled his eyes, Ian added, before laughing, "Of course, those guys actually twist their ankles while skiing." 

"Oh, that was like so uncalled for!" 

Snickering, Ian crawled into the chair on top of Blair with his arms wrapped around his waist. "I'm sorry. It's just funny--" 

"It's not funny!" 

"Oh, come on." But Blair wasn't budging, so Ian tried a different tactic. "All right, it was embarrassing." 

"Damn right it was embarrassing." 

"I'm sorry I laughed at you." Ian stared at Blair for a few seconds, before he burst out laughing again. 

Blair pushed him off the chair. "Get. Get off me." 

"I'm sorry," Ian kept insisting through his chuckles. 

When Ian hit the floor, Blair added, "And you can sleep on the sofa." 

Ian looked up at Blair, still smiling, then broke eye contact. With his fingertips, he traced the veins and ligaments on the back of Blair's hand. After a minute of this soft, sensual stroking, Ian said in a calm voice, "Blair . . . if it would make you feel better, I'll sleep on the sofa." His eyes met Blair's again. "I'm afraid that we might have . . . gone too fast last time. . . that maybe that was why you were so afraid I'd be judgmental about you . . . about what happened between you and that man who killed . . ." Ian took a deep breath. "I just want you to feel comfortable around me." 

Ian glanced down at Blair's foot and the plastic bag of ice draped over his ankle. Casually he turned, lifted the ice, wiped the condensation away with a towel, then unraveled the bandage they had bought. With careful, gentle movements, he began to dress Blair's ankle, wrapping the cloth over the foot, then behind the heel, until the work was complete. Once finished, he turned to Blair with a soft smile. "Is it too tight?" 

Blair just smiled back at him. "It's fine." 

Ian stared at him a moment longer, enjoying their mutual smiles and how good it made him feel. "We don't have good luck together, do we?" 

"Don't say that," Blair replied. "Visualizing bad luck will only make it happen." 

"Here we are, date number three, and you get hurt." 

"I'm not hurt, Ian." 

"All right, you're not hurt for a typical day at work with Jim Ellison. But I guess I won't be able to take you skiing tomorrow." 

"That means we'll have to come up with something else to do." 

Ian looked deep into his blue eyes, their smiles fading into the subtle shades of hunger and lust. Rising from the floor in a single, fluid movement, Ian slid over Blair's legs, his hands resting on the arms of the chair as he lowered himself down, pausing to kiss Blair' forehead, then the bridge of his nose, and finally, brushing their dry lips together. 

Blair raised his hands to Ian's shoulders, touched his flannel shirt lightly before his fingers trailed down to the buttons. Freeing him of his shirt, exposing his tattooed chest. With his thumbs, Blair traced the intricate blackwork knots of Ian's tattoo until he reached his nipples, which he kneaded between his thumb and forefinger, delighting in Ian's soft moans. 

"Ian?" 

"Yes?" 

"About the bedroom." 

"Yes?" 

"I think the bedroom has a better view than the sofa." 

"A better view?" 

"Yeah. You wanna see it?" 

With a muscle-flexing push-up, Ian rose from the chair, then reached for Blair's hand. "I think I'll need a good tour guide." As Blair struggled to lift himself from the chair, Ian added. "Better yet, here. Let me guide you." 

/You'll be the guide? But I'm the guide./ Thoughts of Jim flashed in Blair's mind and he took a deep breath and sighed. 

"Wrong choice o f words on my part?" Ian asked. "Isn't that what Jim's calls you? His guide?" 

"Yes. He's the sentinel. I'm the guide." 

Ian thought for a moment. "Blair, do you have . . . feelings for Jim?" 

Blair paused with reluctance before admitting, "Yes." 

"And does . . . Jim have feelings for you?" 

"Yes." 

"Oh. . . . Then Blair, why did you come here with me this weekend?" 

"Jim has feelings for me, but he won't act on them. And maybe he shouldn't. We are partners, after all. And he's my dissertation subject. It would be career suicide for me to sleep with my case study. And there's no telling what it would do to our working relationship." 

They remained silent for a few moments, processing, until Ian broke the quiet. "So what should I do?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"Do I keep growing attached to you, only to have you leave me when Jim finally decides to act on his feelings?" 

"I'm not that callous, Ian. If we find that we have something together, then I'm not going to just throw that away." 

"Anything else I can do?" 

"Do?" 

"To make you . . . want to be with me." 

Blair's blue eyes flashed with devilish sparks. "Distract me," he said. "Take my mind off of it." 

Ian leaned over Blair again, his firm, toned arms holding him over Blair's body. "That I can do," he whispered. "That I can do." His lips brushed against Blair's again, but this time, demanding entry. After a deep, hungry kiss, Ian added, "About that tour of the bedroom. Is it still open?" 

"Have you got fifty cents?" 

"Will you take it in trade?" 

"I think management would approve." 

Ian kissed Blair lightly, then said, "Come on. I'll help you walk." As Blair hobbled toward the bedroom, Ian braced him with one arm around his shoulder and his hand against Blair' chest. At the doorway to Blair' room, Ian swooped down to pick Blair up, angling his twisted ankle through the doorway without bumping it and carrying him over the threshold. 

"Does this mean we're married?" 

Ian dropped Blair on the bed. "Only if I'm lucky." 

"There you go with the 'luck' again," Blair teased. 

But Ian's expression grew serious and soulful as he whispered, "Yes, I would be so lucky to have you." Blair felt his chest drop before a dopey grin flashed on his face and he released a soft laugh. Ian read the expression, then kissed Blair on his chin, then his jaw, taking his ringed earlobe between his teeth to nibble and suck gently. Blair sighed, and Ian dipped lower, to his neck, to bite and mark. Blair arched his back in pleasure, and Ian snaked his arms behind him, tugging him closer. 

* * *

Simon was a little surprised to get Jim's call that Saturday afternoon. "Hey, Simon, ready to cash in that rain check?" His voice sounded in high spirits, but there was something else, almost a catch in his throat, that Simon had come to realize meant he was bothered by something. 

"Yeah, sure, Jim. Where?" 

"How about that tavern over on Stanley Avenue?" 

Simon knew the place. He also knew the bar was a long way from the police station. "Sounds good to me. Want me to meet you there, about six?" 

"That's works." 

Stepping into the tavern, Simon found Jim fairly easily. He was sitting toward the end of the bar, staring up at the television at a basketball game. Simon slapped him on the back, startling Jim for a moment, and they fell into an easy conversation. Even so, Simon could tell something was wrong; Jim seemed to be both outgoing and reserved, as if he wanted to be with Simon, but at the same time, as if something was making him nervous. After the bartender brought over Simon's second beer, the captain finally asked, "Okay, Jim, so what's up?" 

"Huh? What do you mean?" he replied, his tone of voice defensive. 

"You act like you're holding back on something. You wanted to go out, but now I'm doing all the talking. And I've known you way too long. When you act like this, it means you want to talk about something." 

"You sound as bad as Blair." 

"The kid just picks up on it faster. So what's up? Is something wrong?" 

"No." Then Jim added, "Yes." 

"What's going on?" 

"Simon, I need some advice." 

"Shoot." 

"I . . ." Jim drew in his breath, then moved his fist back and forth slightly as if to build up courage. "I'm trying to get someone to notice me." 

Simon barked out a short, disbelieving laugh, then another, his expression one of shock and a irrepressible desire to tease. "Jim Ellison wants someone to notice _him_?" 

"Come on, Simon, don't make fun of me," Jim said pitifully, his head low. "This is killing me enough just to ask you." 

"Why me? I'm certainly no expert on this. Why don't you ask Blair?" 

"I can't talk to Blair about this." 

Feeling for him a little, Simon resisted the opportunity to really nail his friend. "Okay, Jim. Do I know this person?" 

"No," Jim lied. "Not really." 

Now Simon could really see that this was bothering him. "So what do you want me to do?" 

"I need some advice. I mean, you're better at this than I am. What am I supposed to do?" 

"Jim, romance is not that difficult. Maybe you're trying too hard. Women like attention -- that's what they really appreciate. I mean, ask her out to dinner, or better yet, go to the trouble of _making_ her dinner. And buy her flowers." 

Jim looked over at Simon miserably. "I tried that." 

"And it didn't work?" 

"Simon, you don't understand. I'm up against this other guy who has everything. I can't compete with him. He does everything better than me." 

"That can't be true." 

"It is, Simon. This guy's a neurologist. He's rich. And he's handsome. And he's younger than I am. He's smarter than I am and he's funnier than I am and he goddamn talks like he's from Masterpiece Theater." 

Simon's eyes grew big as he started to put the pieces together. "Jim, you're . . . you're talking about Dr. Yoshito, aren't you?" Jim could only look over at Simon with sad eyes. "What kind of detective do you take me for?! Did you think you could just con me into not figuring out who you're talking about?! You're talking about _Blair Sandburg_! You want _Blair Sandburg_ to notice you!" Simon's head jerked around as if he was trying to find something. "Jim, have you gone nuts? You have, haven't you? I mean, I knew things were . . ." He started to stand. 

"Where are you going?" 

"No. I won't have any part of this." He turned to face him. "Jim, I've known you for a long time. I know that when you first transferred from Vice, you were withdrawn and angry and mean. And I understand it was the loss of your partner and what happened in Peru. And then I watched your marriage with Carolyn fall apart. I know that ever since Sandburg showed up, you've been a lot better -- I know this -- but Jim, man, this is taking it too far. You don't have to turn _queer_ just to please Sandburg." 

Jim turned his head away from Simon at the insult. 

"Jim, please, I haven't said this before, but this is gone on for too long. You need to seek some professional help. See a doctor. See a psychiatrist. Do something, man." 

"But Simon--" 

"No, Jim. No. I won't have any part of this. I'm not going to help you _re-adjust your sexuality_ just to please Sandburg." Simon stepped away quickly, stopping at the other end of the bar to pay his tab and get his driver's license back. While he waited for the bartender to turn around, he looked one last time at his "confused" friend. 

Jim sat perfectly still, his elbows on the bar, staring down at the rings of condensation left by his beer mug. He sat so motionless that at first Simon worried it was a zone-out, but then Jim moved, wiping one hand across his face in frustration. /What the hell's going on in that loft?/ Simon thought. /First Sandburg, now Jim?/ He thought back to Blair. /And I didn't even know about Sandburg until the day his Australian boyfriend died. But then again, I wouldn't have put it past the kid./ 

"Sir?" the bartender broke his train of thought. "Did you want to pay your tab?" 

"Yeah." Simon pulled out his wallet and started counting cash. /I can't believe Jim would ask me something like this. Hell, he would never have even _talked_ to me about it before. He sure as hell didn't say anything to me when he and Carolyn got divorced./ Then Simon looked back at Jim, and recognized that stoic demeanor that Jim put forth when he was really upset. /The entire time he was getting a divorce from Carolyn, he was never so upset that he needed my help./ Then the realization hit him. /He must be feeling really lost if he came to me./ 

"Sir? That'll be six dollars." 

Simon eyed the bartender for a moment as the realization sank in. 

"Sir." 

Pointing to Jim, Simon said, "Add that guy's tab to mine." 

"Sure. Just a moment." 

/And Blair's not such a bad kid. He certainly has turned Jim into a better man./ 

"That'll be twelve dollars altogether." 

He handed him fifteen and said, "Keep the change." As he started to leave, he stopped in the doorway. /What if Jim's been so messed up because he's been gay all along?/ Simon looked at the car keys in his hands. /And what the hell kind of friend are you?/ he asked himself. /He comes to you for help and you slam him down./ 

Simon turned around. Jim was still sitting at the bar just as motionless and quiet. /I thought I was tolerant. I guess I was just tolerant of people I didn't know./ 

Very slowly he stepped back into the bar and crossed the room. He stood beside his friend for a few moments, trying to make sense of his conflicting feelings. Simon knew he should help his friend, but he just still wasn't sure if Jim wanting Sandburg was a good thing. 

"Jim, I'm sorry. I didn't--" 

"Don't," Jim interrupted him. 

"No, you came to me because you needed my help, you needed me to listen and be there for you, and I . . . I freaked. You just took me by surprise there." Jim tried to wave him off, but Simon pressed on. "I'm . . . I'm sorry I spouted off like I did." They were quiet for a few long moments, before Simon took a deep breath and said, "Jim . . . if you want to get Sandburg to like you . . . I don't think money's gonna do it, or good looks. He's a hippie, and deep down those things don't mean anything to him." 

"I know. That's what makes this so hard. He likes Ian in spite of those things. He likes his brain, and how he talks. I'm just not special like that." 

"Now don't hand me any of that crap," Simon rebutted with his usual stern voice. "You can't make me think that what you have, this sentinel thing, isn't special. Jim, you can see for miles and you can smell things no one else can and you can even hear when people are lying. And Sandburg lives for that. He's wanted to be around sentinels all his life. He just needs to know that you want him." 

"That's what I thought. But I waited too long to tell him, and now he's attracted to Ian." 

Simon grew quiet for a while, then said, "Then you need to talk to him. Just talk. You know that's what Sandburg likes the most -- he likes to talk. But do things for him, little things. I mean, you've lived with this kid for three years, you know him better than I do, and you should certainly know him better than this doctor. What does he like? What does he want?" 

Jim waited for a moment, letting Simon's advice sink in. He looked up at Simon and gave him a half-hearted smile. "Thanks, Simon." 

"Jim, I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have said what I did. This is going to . . . take me a while, okay?" 

"I know this is crazy, Simon," Jim started to confess quickly, "but I can't get him out of my mind. If he's with me, all I can do is listen to his heart beat and smell him. And if he's not with me, all I can do is miss him, and think about him, and worry. Then at night, I dream about him." 

Simon waved his hand. "I'm not ready to go there, Jim." 

"I understand. It's taken me over a year just to face this. A year too long. Think of how differently things would have gone with Blair if I had had the courage to do what was right last year. He wouldn't have gotten involved with Jack. Jack would be alive right now. Blair wouldn't have gone through all that hell." Jim made eye contact with Simon. "I can't keep sitting on the fence, Simon. Whether it's the right thing or not, I have to do this." 

* * *

Blair balanced on his crutches as he flipped the keys around on his 

keyring, trying to find the one to the loft. The suitcase Ian was carrying nudged him in the back of the knees as Ian nuzzled in for a kiss. Blair glanced at the case. "Ian, that's not mine." 

"I know. When you unpack it, you can bring it back to me." 

"No, the clothes in there aren't mine either. Well, the ones from Friday are mine." 

"Keep them." 

Blair rolled his eyes. "Ian, I don't feel comfortable with that." 

"Look, just keep the one's you like. Give the rest back to me." 

Blair wasn't satisfied with Ian's answer, but he let it slide for now. He opened the door, and when he stepped inside, the first thing he noticed was the large arrangement of yellow roses sitting on the table. Blair just cocked his head to one side to peer through his long hair at Ian. "Did you do this?" 

Ian noticed the flowers, then one eyebrow rose before he answered, "No." 

"Well I didn't buy them." Blair turned the vase completely around. "There's no card." When he noticed that Ian hadn't moved as he watched Blair near the flowers, Blair rolled his eyes. "What? You don't think _Jim_ got them for me, do you?" 

Ian didn't answer him. 

"Ian, Jim must have bought them for someone else. . . . Or somebody gave . . . them . . . to him." Blair's voice trailed off as he realized what he was saying. The thought that someone else had entered the picture, might take Jim away, or that Jim's attention was now directed at someone else began to gnaw away at him. 

"So," Ian broke his thoughts, "apparently the idea of Jim seeing or being seen by someone else bothers you more than you expected." He dropped Blair's bag and started to leave. 

Blair hurried after him. "Ian, wait. Let's don't end our weekend like this." Ian paused in the doorway as Blair slipped an arm around his waist. "I'm sure there's a good reason for this, but in either case, I had a great weekend with you. Honest. It was incredible." 

Ian smiled slightly, then leaned down to give Blair a quick, dry kiss on the lips. "I did, too, Blair. I did, too. Now follow your doctor's orders and keep off that ankle." 

"Yes, sir." Blair smiled again, then gave Ian a deeper kiss before releasing him. 

Alone, Blair dragged the suitcase into his bedroom and began to unpack. He dumped all the clothes onto his bed, then decided to sort them later. He was too hungry to do it now. 

Blair limped into the kitchen, opened the door to the refrigerator, and noticed how much food was stuffed inside. Opening one of the containers, he recognized the dish. /Jim can't stand this stuff. I'm the only . . . one . . . who'll . . ./ 

Blair shut the door to the refrigerator. And on the counter, he noticed the bottle of wine, opened but with the cork squeezed back in. It was one of his favorite labels. 

/Oh, man, Jim did do all this for me. He must have wanted to surprise me on Friday. Ah, shit./ 

Blair noticed the roses again. He carefully pulled one closer to his nose, and as he did, a few petals fell. He picked them up, rolling the smooth yellow petals between his fingers and thumb before tossing them in the trash. When he did, he saw the broken bits of glass. 

* * *

When Jim entered the loft, the first thing that caught his eye were the candles flickering on the table. Without even dropping his keys in the basket, Jim stepped over to the table to see the Malaysian food spread out again. He could hear Blair' heartbeat in the room, could smell his presence, and suddenly he felt so embarrassed that his face burned. Maybe it was the disappointment from two nights ago and how he had wanted to surprise Blair with the meal, that now, seeing it spread out again before him and by the person he had intended to surprise -- these things sent him into a state of discomfort. Jim turned when he heard Blair open his bedroom door. 

Then he saw Blair' crutches, and it was much easier to shift into blessed protector mode than to face Friday night's fiasco. "Blair, what happened to you?" 

Blair hobbled toward him. "I'm fine. I just twisted it. Ian says I'll be back on my feet by the end of the week." 

"What does Ian know? He's a neurologist." 

"Chill out, Jim. We went to the clinic at the resort and they said the same thing." 

"Oh." Jim broke eye contact and shifted on his feet. Finally he asked, "So how was it?" 

"It was all right, I guess. Nothing to write home about." 

"Oh." Jim's tone of voice changed a little, became more up beat. He scratched at his temple with his finger. "Why . . . uhm . . . why did you . . . do this?" Jim motioned to the table. 

Blair looked at the table with a smile, but when he noticed the confused expression on Jim's face, his manner changed. "You . . . did get this . . ." Then he smacked his forehead with his hand. /Oh, shit, he didn't get this food for me!/ "Stupid, stupid. You didn't get this for me. You got this for someone else. Ah, Jim, man, I am _so_ sorry. I didn't mean to open all this up. I just thought you were . . . oh, gods, man I am such a jerk." 

"Whoa, Blair, I did do this for you." 

Blair lifted his eyes. "Really?" 

"Yeah. I just . . . didn't know you were going away with Ian and . . ." 

"I did say I wasn't doing anything this weekend, didn't I?" 

"Yeah. But that's okay. I shouldn't have tried to surprise you." 

"W - why did you do this?" 

Jim looked down at the floor again and shoved his hands in his pockets. "I just wanted . . . I just wanted you to notice me, that's all." 

"Jim, I do notice you." Blair came forward, setting his crutches aside to wrap his arms around Jim's torso in a hug. Jim reacted stiffly at first before melting his body around Blair with a soft sigh. 

"No. I mean . . . I wanted you to _notice_ me." 

Blair pulled back. "Jim, you said you were too afraid I'd get hurt." 

"I know. I know I said those things. And I still feel that . . . a little. Just not as much as I did before. I guess . . . I guess what I'm saying is that I want to . . . try to work this all out. I . . . I think you're worth it, Blair." 

He stared at Jim for a few seconds. "Oh . . . I . . . I kind of wish . . ." 

"Yeah, Chief, I know. You wish I had told you before you started going out with Ian. I . . . I kinda hoped you hadn't been dating him that long so that you would . . . notice me. You hadn't gone out with him since that night when Weird Em broke in. I . . . I just wasn't expecting him to take you away like that. I'm sorry." 

"Jim, I do like Ian, a lot." 

"I know you do, Chief. I can see that. And maybe he's a better man for you than I am." 

"Stop it." 

"I just . . . I just thought that maybe if you'd go out with me a few times, like on a real date or something, that maybe I could change your mind." Jim moved away from Blair. "I . . . I should stop, I'm just making a fool of myself. I don't talk like Ian talks and I can't take you away to some expensive resort--" 

Blair limped after him until he stopped Jim's rambling with his hand to his shoulder. "Jim--Jim, slow down." 

Jim turned to face him. 

"Give me some credit, here. You know that money doesn't impress me, and well, maybe you are hard to live with because you won't talk to me, but when it comes to something important, we always work it out. And yes, Ian can take me to some expensive resort somewhere; that doesn't mean I'm ready to spend my life with him." Blair smiled, then added, "Besides, he took me some place colder than Cascade. You like know how much I hate being cold." 

Jim forced out a short laugh. 

"But, I've known you longer, Jim. We've been through a lot together. You know more about what I like and don't like than Ian does. I mean, look, you got dinner from one of my favorite restaurants, even though you don't like to eat there." 

They stared at each other for a while, letting everything sink in, when Jim asked, "So who do you like more?" 

Blair couldn't answer at first. "I . . . I honestly don't know." 

"If I asked you out, would you go with me?" 

Again, Blair didn't answer. 

"You're uncomfortable with this," Jim said. "I can tell." 

"I just . . . I know if I start dating both of you at the same time that I'm going to hurt someone. I don't want to be the guy that does that." 

"Blair, we've already crossed that line. One of us is going to get hurt." 

"Yeah, but--" 

"I want you Blair, with me. And . . . I don't want to give up on you without at least trying. I've been doing that now for over a year, from before Jack was around. I can't keep letting you go, Chief. . . . Will you give me a chance?" 

Blair thought for a while. "Let's see how tonight goes," he said, pointing to the table. "And let's take it slow, until we both know this is what we really want." 

"And Ian?" 

"Ian stays in the picture until I know which one of you is right for me." 

"Oh." 

"Can you live with that?" 

"If those are the rules." 

"This isn't a contest." 

"Let's don't kid ourselves, Blair. This is a contest." 

* * *

The next weekend, Blair turned Ian down to spend time with Jim. "Oh," Ian had answered, a little dejected. 

"I need to work on some research. Make up for lost time from _last_ weekend." 

"All right. Maybe next weekend?" 

"Consider it a date." 

Blair wasn't quite sure what Jim had planned. When Friday came, he finally asked, "Hey, Jim, what are we doing tomorrow?" 

"I thought we'd spend the afternoon at St. Matthew's. Introduce you to Tom. Then afterwards, we'd see what we feel like doing." 

Stunned for a moment, Blair eventually replied, "Wait a minute. You want to spend the day with me . . . while I research another sentinel?" 

Jim seemed a little unsure of himself then. "Well, I . . . I thought that would be something you'd want to do . . . you know?" 

"Well, yeah, it is, but . . . I don't want you to be miserable." 

Smiling, Jim patted Blair on the shoulder. "Thanks, Chief. I'll be fine. I haven't seen Tom all winter. After that, we can go out somewhere. We don't have to decide right now." 

"Whoa, Jim Ellison is going to let me do research, and he's not going to plan something?" Blair teased. "Man, this really is a treat." 

Turning so that Blair wouldn't see his satisfied grin, Jim thought to himself, /I'll need to thank Simon later./ 

* * *

As they drove into the monastery, Blair looked around at the pristine gardens and the tall stone buildings. "Man, this is no way like St. Sebastian's." 

"Yeah. Tom said this monastery was built around the turn of the century. Then some railroad baron donated a fortune out here to build all the buildings." 

"I didn't even know this place was up here." Blair said as Jim parked the truck. 

"Here, you'll need your backpack, won't you?" Jim asked as he handed it to Blair. 

"Thanks." Together, they strolled across the gravel walkway toward the main building, the gray stones crunching under their shoes. The weather was incredible for a spring in Cascade -- bright blue skies and moderate temperatures. Another week of weather like this and the flowers would begin to bud. Even so, Blair pulled his jacket tight around his chest. 

"Now Blair, promise me something." 

"What?" 

"Tom thinks all this sentinel stuff is a miracle. Don't go in there with your sentinel guns blazing. I'd like for him to keep believing how special it is." 

"But it is special, Jim." 

"I know that, but when you start going off about genetics, it sounds all . . . mechanical." 

"I'll watch what I say, big guy." 

"Thanks." 

Jim held the door open for Blair, and they stepped into a large foyer. "That's the way into the chapel," Jim whispered, pointing to the right. "And the courtyard and dormitories are through there." He looked around, listening, scanning for voices he might recognize. "We need to find Father Andrew first." 

"Why?" 

"To ask his permission to be here. He always says yes, but Tom told me to do it anyway." 

They heard a voice behind them. "Jim Ellison?" 

Jim turned to see an older monk entering the foyer through the same door they had. "Father Andrew. We were looking for you." 

"I thought I saw your truck come in." Father Andrew wrapped his arms around him in a good-natured hug. "It's good to see you again, my son." Then he looked at Blair. "And I see you've brought someone with you this time." 

"Father Andrew, this is my partner, Blair Sandburg." 

Blair reached out to shake his hand. Father Andrew took it, but he also pulled Blair closer for a hug. "Welcome, my son. We try to balance our seclusion with the need that people have in these times for the retreat that we can offer. You are welcome to this place." 

"Thank you," Blair smiled. "Thank you very much." 

"Are you here to visit Brother Thomas?" 

"Yes, Father," Jim answered. 

"Good." Then he added. "You've been gone a long time, Jim. We were beginning to worry about you. I'll send Brother Thomas down. We just finished lunch, and he's helping to clean the kitchen. Why don't you two wait for him in the courtyard. It's a lovely day outside." 

Once Father Andrew had slipped away, Blair leaned close to say, "He seems nice." 

"They're all nice, Chief. I doubt they have any mobsters hiding out here." 

"Yeah, I've heard that one before." 

It wasn't long before Tom hurried into the courtyard garden, calling Jim's name as he came closer. Blair took the opportunity to measure up Jim's old lover. He and Jim were the same age and height. Tom had the charming good looks of the boy-next door, with pale blond hair that was now thin and wispy and balding quickly. Blair had expected to see a muscle-bound man but Tom was thin, lean, almost lanky. When he smiled, his grin was genuine and infectious. 

Jim pulled his friend into a tight hug, and although he tried to hide it, Blair felt a slight pang when he saw the contented expression on Jim's face. /I want to be the reason he looks like that./ 

Pushing Tom back a little but still holding onto his upper arms, Jim said, "Tom, buddy, you've lost some weight." 

"Hey, don't need all these muscles," Tom replied with a squeeze of Jim's biceps, "when you're wrestling down ivy instead of criminals." 

"I guess not," Jim said. "I guess not." Then he looked down at the jeans and boots showing underneath the hem of his brown robe. "And when did you change your uniform?" 

Lifting up his robe, Tom looked down and laughed. "Well, it gets cold under here. Father Andrew said I could, to keep from getting sick." To change the subject, Tom turned to face Blair. "I really hope you're Blair Sandburg." 

Blair couldn't help but grin. "I am." 

"Jim has told me a hundred stories about you." 

Looking over Tom's shoulder, Jim saw Blair's facial expression melt slightly. 

"I hope they were good stories," Blair commented. 

"Good to the core. He kept promising to bring you out here." Then Tom looked over his shoulder at Jim. "I was beginning to think he'd made you up." 

"He's real all right," Jim said. "Just wait until he starts testing you." 

Blair wasn't quite sure how Tom would take to the idea of testing his _miracle._ "I hope that's okay." 

"Of course it is. Jim tells me these tests help him with his gift. I don't use mine like he does, but I imagine any help I give you, you'd use with Jim. Jim told me there would be some release forms to sign. And I would also need to get Father Andrew's permission, since I've taken a vow of obedience." 

"Yes, of course," Blair said. "And we don't have to start today." 

"Nonsense. No time like the present." 

Jim leaned in. "I'll give you guys some privacy." 

"What? Where are you going?" Blair asked at a loss. 

"I'm just going out of ear-shot." 

"Jim, that's like a mile away." 

"I know, Darwin. I'll come pick you up at 4. Is that okay?" 

"Well, I guess." 

"Do you have everything?" 

"Yeah, I've got my backpack." 

After Jim had left, Blair looked over at Tom and suddenly felt very shy around him. A moment of silence haunted them, then Tom smiled and said, "Come. Let's do some work." Blair followed quietly behind Tom through the monastery and into the back garden where a large wrought-iron and glass greenhouse stretched. Once inside, Tom pointed to a table. "You can put your backpack there. No one will touch it." 

"Oh. Okay. Let me get my notebook at least." 

"In a moment." He then pointed at a stack of yellow, cowhide gloves. "Hand me some gloves, and take some for yourself, too." Tom picked up some pruning shears and a small trowel. "We should do a little work, first. I find it an easy way of getting to know someone for the first time." 

"Uhm. Sure. I should warn you that I like have the blackest thumb of them all." 

Tom laughed. "You'll be fine. There's no such thing as a black thumb. Come on. I'll show you how easy it is." 

Blair looked around at the expansive greenhouse filled with tropical plants. Tom noticed him gazing around, and he said, "We use this to grow a lot of the plants that we sell. It helps us render unto Caesar that which is Caesar's. But most of what I work on are the bonsai. We keep them back here." Tom lead the way through the green into another area that was mostly benches with stunted trees, one after another. "Once the weather warms up some, we can take a lot of these outside. The more hardy trees we keep out during the winter." 

Blair approached one of the trees in a state of awe. The tree stood about a foot and a half tall, its gnarled trunk as thick as his wrist. Its roots snaked over a small, lichen covered rock. Impulsively, he stretched his fingers to touch it, then drew back, afraid. Tom almost laughed in spite of himself. Gently, so as not to startle him, he whispered, "You can touch it." 

"Can I?" 

"Go ahead." As Blair's fingertips stroked its trunk, Tom added, "It's a maple tree, and it's over a hundred years old." 

"Whoa!" Blair pulled his hand away quickly. "A hundred?!" 

"It was a gift from a Zen Buddhist monastery in Japan." 

"Wow. It's beautiful." 

Blair was mesmerized, and Tom watched him, understanding then how Jim had fallen in love with this creature. /This is what Jim needs to make him whole./ Tom's first unsure impressions of Blair, caused by the earrings and the pony tail, were now somewhat eased. "Come, I'll show you how it's done." 

* * *

By the time Jim came back to pick Blair up, his guide was a contradiction in terms --on the surface, he seemed very centred but the sparkle in his eyes showed that beneath this calm exterior he was wired for sound. "Well? How'd it go?" Blair could only flash Jim a wide, intoxicated smile. "That good, huh? What'd you guys do?" 

"I made my first bonsai!" 

"You did what?" 

"You know, those little trees. Bonsai trees. Tom and I made bonsai trees today." 

"So much for research," Jim teased, but he had suspected Tom would do something like this. Each time Jim had come to visit him, he would suddenly find himself wrist deep in dirt and not realize when Tom had conned him into doing it. 

"No, we did some sentinel work. Father Andrew seemed a lot more encouraging than I thought he would be at first, so I can come back every Saturday for as long as I need. And I did some benchmark tests. Tom's not as strong as you are, but then, like he said, he probably doesn't need to keep his skills as honed as you do." As Jim pulled out of the monastery's driveway, he headed in the opposite direction in which they had come. "Hey, where are we going?" 

"I found a place. I thought you might like it." 

Blair eased back into the seat of the truck, looking over at his sentinel. /I really like this side of you, Jim. I really do./ 

* * *

The place Jim took them overlooked Puget Sound, not far from the San Juan Islands. He had found it on his second trip out here, when the stress he felt during Blair's mourning for Jack McClairy had driven him to seek solitude. Here, a mile away from the road, Jim had discovered an outcropping of rock with an unrestricted few of the sound and Mount Olympus. Neither men said much as they walked through the woods. Jim brought the binoculars and handed them to Blair. Once they reached the outcropping, Jim scaled it quickly, then reached down for Blair's hand. 

"Look," Jim pointed at the sun. "Perfect timing." The sun was beginning to set behind Mount Olympus, and the sky had taken on a hazy yellow glow that would soon turn rosy and purple. Jim settled back, leaning against the rock with one leg stretched out and his hand resting on his bent knee.. "Come here," he said, pulling Blair down. He snaked his left arm around Blair's waist and held him, his back to Jim's chest. 

Blair had never sat so intimately with Jim before, except when one of them was breaking down or in pain. /This is much better,/ Blair said to himself. /Much better./ 

"There," Jim pointed. "Look over there." 

Blair lifted the binoculars to his eyes. "What am I looking for?" 

Jim placed his cheek against Blair's, then helped him aim his sight. "There. It's a pod of orcas. Can you see their fins?" 

But Blair could barely concentrate on the whales because his heart suddenly swelled with glee. /Jim is sharing this with me. He's sharing his sight, just for me./ Blair let the binoculars sink for a moment to look Jim in the eyes, so close to him, his body warmth everywhere, on his back, around his waist, along his legs. 

Jim noticed Blair's happiness, and smiled a soft, unaffected smile that relaxed the muscles around his eyes. "There's a calf out there, too. You don't want to miss him." For the rest of the afternoon, Jim pointed out sights for Blair to see, including a bald eagle swooping down to snatch a fish. Jim followed him back to shore, where a second eagle waited. "They must have just migrated back," Jim said. "I bet that's his mate." Then he paused, and whispered in Blair's ear. "You know they mate for life?" 

That remark brought a wave of pheromones from Blair's skin, and Jim pulled him tighter. For such an outspoken man, Blair had barely said three sentences, and if it weren't for the steady stream of pheremones rising up from him, Jim would have been a little nervous, thinking he had made the wrong move. When the sun turned red and the sky a deep purple, both men grew very silent. As for Blair, he had never felt this safe and protected before, and he pushed back the always present fear that the good things in his life would never last very long. 

* * *

Blair succeeded in balancing out his time between all the men in his life -- Dr Carlson, his adviser, Brother Thomas, Jim, Ian, and Simon Banks and the Cascade PD. Friday nights, while Jim and Simon bonded during happy hour, Blair would see Ian. Saturday afternoons he spent with Tom. Saturday nights he spent with Jim. 

But the stress was beginning to drain him. Ian became increasingly sweet and considerate, and their nights together became long conversations that rambled into the early morning. When Blair thought back on everyone he had ever dated, male and female, he couldn't remember another person with whom he had developed such an easy rapport, not even Jack. 

He was extremely thankful for Saturday afternoons. Tom wouldn't let Blair begin testing him until after they had done some work in the garden -- planting bulbs, transplanting seedlings, pruning. The gardening helped him relax and center himself before he drove back home, where Jim would be waiting to surprise him with their evening. 

When Jim had become this alter-ego, Blair had no idea. He realized quickly that the change in Jim's personality came from the sentinel letting his defenses drop, allowing Blair to see a side of him that few others had ever seen. Some nights, as he sat across a table in a restaurant Jim had found, he wondered if Carolyn had ever seen this side. Other nights, when they rode the ferries together to observe the lights of downtown, Blair wondered if Tom was the only soul lucky enough to have seen this person, this open Jim. Thinking back to how frightened Jim had become of their relationship, Blair would get nervous and fidgety. 

On Sunday nights, Blair would enter in all the test data that he had collected from Tom the afternoon before. This was when he suffered the most stress. It all built up to overwhelm him. Two nights in a row of intense attention from both Ian and Jim; the guilt from decieving Ian, who still didn't know he was seeing Jim; the pressure of his own growing affection for both men; the stress of work the following day at both Rainier and the station; and the greatest stress of all - Tom's data. 

On Blair's first visit, he had benchmarked Tom's abilities. The next weekend, those numbers fell a little lower. Then again. Then again. Each time, Blair would adjust his findings. One Sunday, Blair thought maybe the change in the season was the reason. That weekend, Tom had complained of a mild headache that he shrugged off as allergies to the pollen from the spring flowers, and Blair had to admit that the brothers did go a little overboard with all the flowers that bloomed in the monastic gardens. Comparing Tom's data to Jim's, he noticed that Jim's abilities seemed to rise a bit in spring, and when he had sinus problems, his hearing would spike, but not Tom's. 

Jim could tell each Sunday night was becoming a torture for Blair, but when he tried to get Blair to talk, the young man would either shrug him off or snap at him, resulting in such a profusion of apologies streaming from his guide that Jim would feel guilty about it afterwards. He left Blair to his work, keeping the volume on the television low, then retiring early with the brotherly admonition to, "Hit the hay early tonight, Chief." 

* * *

One Sunday, desperately needing something to distract him, Blair phoned Collin. He talked him into driving to Seattle with him and hitting the used book stores. Collin was more than willing to get away. Like Blair, his grants had come through and he was ready to treat himself. "I really should be on a book diet," he had said, "but what the hell. Look at me. I'll be skinny for the rest of my life, so I might as 

well have one vice that's not good for me." 

He met Blair at the loft. "You ready to go?" 

"Just a minute. Come in and wait for me." Blair darted into his room. 

Collin stepped in and noticed Jim standing in the kitchen. "Oh. Hi." He came forward after setting his backpack down. "My name's Collin." 

"Jim." 

"Pleased to meet you." 

Just then, Blair peeked out of his room. "Oh, hey, I forgot to introduce you guys. Jim, Collin. Collin, Jim." 

"Ignore him," Jim said to Collin. "He forgot to pay his brain bill this month." 

"I heard that," Blair announced as he came out of his room with his backpack. 

Collin noticed the carved wooden Indian near the windows overlooking the street. "My," he began with a soft drawl, "what a _fine_ piece of workmanship this is." He turned to Jim with a smile. "I take it this is yours?" 

"Yes, thank you." 

Blair leaned over, "Jim, I think he was being facetious." 

Pretending to sip his coffee, Jim turned to face Blair and whispered, "How can you tell?" 

As Collin strolled toward the door, he added, "I can't believe Native-Boy over there lets you keep this." 

"We've already had our disagreement," Blair added. 

"Hmm. Well, Jim, if it's any consolation, I come from the land where a concrete lawn jockey comes standard with every front yard. I don't have much room to talk." 

"See," Blair began. "I told you." 

"Still," Collin countered, "I think it does have its charm." 

"Thank you, Collin, that's what I said." 

"Charm? You call that charm?" Blair asked. "It's tacky as hell." 

"Tacky has it's place. It defines us. Makes us who we are." 

"Don't tell me you plan on putting up a lawn jockey somewhere in Cascade?" 

"Nope. What I want is a porch cock." 

Jim spat out his coffee. "A what?" 

"Pardon. A concrete rooster. You put them on your porch." 

"Oh." 

"Excuse me, but can I use y'all's bathroom?" 

"Sure," Blair said. "It's over there." 

"Thanks." 

When he was gone, Jim said, "Please tell me he's not contestant number three." 

"Collin? No." 

"Good." 

"Why? Afraid of the competition, there, Jim?" 

"No, not really. I just feel like I've stepped into  Steel Magnolias." 

"I was thinking Designing Women myself." When Blair saw Jim's conspiratorial smile, he added, "But if I weren't already in trouble with too many men in my life, I'd go out with him." 

"Really?" 

"Sure. He's attractive. He's funny as hell. He's incredibly well spoken. Almost a gay Matthew McConnehey." 

"I was thinking Olympia Dukakis myself." 

Collin stepped out of the bathroom. "Damn, Collin, that was quick," Blair remarked. 

Collin picked up the backpack he had set down on the table. "Have penis, will travel. You ready to go?" 

"Ready and willing. See you tonight, Jim." 

"Sure thing, Chief. Drive careful. Do you have your cell phone?" 

"Yes." As he started to close the door, Jim stopped him. 

"Did you charge it?" 

"Yes, Mom. Later, okay?" 

* * *

The following Saturday, Blair and Tom strolled through the garden. Tom rubbed his temples. "You okay, Tom?" 

"Just a headache," he said, shaking his head a few times. "Blair, promise me something, before we start today." 

"What?" 

"That you'll try to convince Jim to start gardening." 

"Get out! Jim? With a plant? He'd kill it." 

"Right now, he probably would," Tom smiled. Then after a moment, he continued. "But he has the gift, doesn't he? With his senses? That opens you, Blair. It makes you a different person." He pulled at a dead flower, pinching it, then tossing the wilted bloom into the mulch. "Jim changed a lot during Basic. The Jim I knew . . . the Jim I fell in love with . . . he was such a sensitive person. He knew immediately what you were thinking, and feeling. He had a sense of colors, he read poetry--" 

"Whoa, Jim Ellison like so does not read poetry." 

"Not good poetry, no, but he had an appreciation for it from high school. He had such good taste in music, really eclectic. . . . Blair, if I could have any wish, it would be that I had met Jim before we joined the Army. In basic training, the Army breaks you apart, destroys you, and then rebuilds you in their image. Sometimes, in ways more psychological than physical." Tom became suddenly sad, but just as quickly, he shook the sadness off. "Can you imagine what kind of man Jim Ellison would be if he never ran afoul of the U.S. Army? Can you imagine what kinds of gifts he would give to the world?" Tom became silent for a long while before adding, "But that's a pipe dream. He was just an idealistic kid. And besides, it was the Army that made him a . . ." 

"Made him what? A sentinel?" When Tom wouldn't answer, Blair added. "Jim's time in Peru certainly brought his senses to their fullest potential, but Jim says he had them when he was a child." 

"A child? Really?" Tom thought for a while, then commented, skeptically, "Maybe he did." 

"You don't seem so sure." 

"Perhaps I'm not." 

* * *

When Jim pulled up the driveway to the front of the monastery, he started to laugh as he saw Blair surrounded by batches of flowers. Jim imagined Tom and Blair grabbing up flowers with that wild-eyed enthusiasm that seduced him so long ago. He jumped out of the truck and ran to the other side to help Blair, then froze. Blair's expression was troubled. Jim sighed visibly and helped Blair with the packets of flowers, wrapped in kraft paper. The cab of Jim's truck stank with the perfume of flowers. "So what's up, Chief? Plan on starting a florist shop?" 

"Tom insisted. Said they were going to make the cuttings anyway." 

"Oh." After a few more miles, Jim added, "I'm feeling a little hungry. Wanna get something to eat? My treat?" 

"Sure. We can grab some take out. Head back to the loft so we can take care of these flowers." 

"If you say so." Jim looked around at the flowers again. "Chief, I don't think I have enough vases for all of these." 

"Yeah. Looks like we'll have to raid the recycle bin for beer bottles." 

Jim smiled. It was reassuring to hear Blair crack a joke, even if the enthusiasm was lacking. "You don't want to go out tonight?" 

"I'm sorry, Jim. Can we do something together at home tonight? I need to check on something when I get back." Today had really disturbed Blair. Tom's abilities had dropped considerably, and the monk even seemed a little distracted. Something was wrong, and Blair felt compelled to input the data tonight and not wait for tomorrow. 

"How did you and Tom get along today?" 

"Not sure. Things were a little off today. I'll have to go back and look at last week's data." 

Neither could read the other's intentions as they drove back to the loft, stopping off first by their favorite Thai restaurant for some take-out. Blair dropped the stems of all of the flowers into the sink. They could handle the search for bottles later. Jim set the table, then handed Blair a beer before sitting down. "Drink up, Chief. We've got a bunch a flowers here." 

They ate for a while longer in silence. Then Blair asked, "Do you still love Tom?" 

Jim thought about it. "To be honest, I don't know if what I feel is love or nostalgia." 

"Would you sleep with him again?" 

"Things are different now." 

"How different?" 

"He's a monk, for one." 

"If he wasn't a monk?" 

Jim drank more of his beer. "Maybe it's me, Chief, but that's a tough question to answer. If you're asking me if I would go back and change all the things that have kept Tom and I apart, I just don't know. That was a long time ago." Then Jim smiled, to break the tension. "I guess he'd have to ask _me_ out a couple of times." Taking another bite, he became serious. "I don't really want to say this, but a part of me says that I wouldn't. Then it was different. We were in the Army, in Basic." 

"So much for don't ask, don't tell." 

"You know this. I've already told you. The way the Army treated guys who fell in love with each other was the main reason we broke up. I saw too many men getting investigated for the most stupid offenses, or being intimidated into naming names. I got spooked." 

"Hmm. Too bad the Army always chooses to ignore the Sacred Band." 

"Who would that be, Chief? The Grateful Dead?" 

"No, smart ass." He cracked a smile at Jim. "They were a fierce military group in the city of Thebes, in ancient Greece. They were made up of couples, lovers. They were a mean bunch to run up against because one lover would never embarrass the other by being a coward." Blair paused for effect. "And they would fight to the death to protect each other." Blair looked over at Jim. He was completely absorbed. "I think the Spartans had something similar, but they weren't as well-known for it." 

"What happened to them?" 

"Phillip of Macedon, Alexander the Great's father, decided to try and conquer Greece. He killed them. Or, rather, they fought to the death. History says each one of them was pierced by a spear in the front of the body, which means they didn't try to run." 

They didn't speak on the subject any more. They finished dinner, then watched a movie. Jim really enjoyed how comfortable it felt to be around Blair and how easy Blair seemed to be with him, as if the troubles of the past year and a half were finally over. Then, as the movie ended, Blair said, "We've put off those damn flowers long enough." He jumped up from the couch. Jim watched him from behind, admiring Blair's body, wanting him. "You gonna help, big guy?" 

Jim didn't answer but followed him to the sink. "What do you want me to do?" 

"Find as many bottles and jars as you can." 

Blair stripped off the bottom leaves and sliced the stems at an angle as Tom had shown him. Jim bent down, looking under the sink. As he did, Blair watched him, his tight waist, his broad shoulders. Jim had the best body of any man he had ever seen. Hard. Smooth. "You okay up there, Chief?" 

/I guess he smelled the pheromones for that,/ Blair thought. "Start handing them to me." 

A few minutes later, the kitchen counter was lined with jars and beer bottles stuffed with flowers in motley assortments of reds, oranges, blues, purples and yellows. Blair reached for another batch, and noticed they were lilacs. He held them for a while, smelling them. 

"Hey," Jim noticed, "that's lilac. I didn't know you could get lilacs this late in spring. Shows what I know about plants." 

"Tom said it was a new variety they had planted; one that blooms later." Then he added, "Shows what I know, too." Jim pinched him in the side for the remark. "Hey, watch it." Still, Blair didn't release the lilac blooms. "Jim?" 

"Yeah." 

"You got me lilacs when Jack died. What is it about lilacs that you like so much?" 

"Something Tom showed me once." 

"What." 

"He had me stare at a clump of lilacs while it was against something else. To see the comparison." Then he grabbed a stem from Blair. "Like this." He draped the lilac across Blair's shoulders so that it lay against his hair, against his cheek. He drank in the scent, dialing up his sensitivity to all of his senses. The fragrance grew strong, tangy and sweet. Jim focused his vision next, on the deep purple blossoms, the lavender flower-stems, and the glossy green leaves. The leaves reflected bits of purple from the flowers, and amber from the kitchen lights. Next he noticed Blair's hair, the random curls. Some were black. Others were brown. A few were copper. All of them gleamed with tiny dots like rainbows. The rainbows sparkled, and Jim was lost, lost in the synesthesia of it. 

Blair, feeling Jim's hand on his shoulder and seeing his brilliant blue eyes staring with a passion he had never seen, had never felt, not even from Jack, not even from Ian, experienced his heart melt. 

Jim only barely heard Blair sigh. He was swamped now by the rich butterscotch smell of Blair's pheremones, silky and lustrous like the richness of polished mahogany, warm and masculine. He breathed heavily, only to hear Blair's voice like a skein of velvet against his face. "Jim?" Jim placed his fingers on Blair's lips, so soft, slightly moist, to silence him,. "Don't zone," Blair said, and Jim drew in his breath as he felt Blair's lips move against his heightened fingertips. 

"Not zoning." He leaned forward. "But if I am, Chief, don't bring me back. You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen." He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against Blair's, and the body warmth made him moan. 

Blair rolled up his face gracefully, and pressed his lips to Jim's, gently. Jim couldn't repress another moan as he felt Blair's lips against his, could distinguish each wrinkle along his lips, felt the softness, the tenderness. For Blair, Jim's moans and his obvious pleasure were twisting at his chest. The pain was exquisite-- a deep, somber pain that took his breath away. 

Jim sighed as he felt the moist tip of Blair's tongue against his lips. He opened slightly, letting Blair inside to explore, to claim. Never had he felt anything this intense. He would get hurt if he wasn't careful, but he didn't care. He would trust. No, he would take advantage and regret later. Blair continued to kiss him, taking the lilac from him until finally Jim pulled back. Jim cupped Blair's face with his large hands. They almost covered Blair's cheeks, so warm and strong and powerful. For Jim, he could feel the pulse beneath Blair's skin and see all the reflections of the flowers in his deep blue eyes. He would fall again, into this beauty, but he had to say this first. "Chief, I've wanted this for a long time. I've wanted to have you. I've wanted to please you. But not at the risk of hurting you. I would never hurt you. I hurt Tom, badly. I'm afraid of doing it again. But I love you, and seeing you like this, I know this is right for me. But I want it, I need it, to be right for you." 

"Jim, I've wanted you for a long time, too. I would have done something to seduce you if I thought it would have worked. Even before Jack, I wanted you." 

Jim considered it for a moment, then said. "Blair, it hurt me when I saw you with Jack. I thought I had lost my chance with you forever. But," he paused, "I don't regret that Jack came. He made you so happy, gave you so many good times. And now, I want to do that for you. I want to make your life one long string of happy--" 

Blair was about to cry, and to stop it he pulled Jim in close for a second kiss, a stronger one. His arms wrapped around Jim's neck, with the lilac still in his hands, now so close to their noses as Jim kissed him hard, pushing into his mouth, rolling his tongue around Blair's. His hands groped Blair's back, feeling the knitted fabric blend with the hard muscle and smooth skin. The smell of flower and man swelled in his mind, and he grew soft and sweet in Blair's mouth. Blair broke the kiss to breathe and whisper, "Jim, don't zone out on me, man." 

"I won't zone," he said as he kissed Blair on the forehead. "I've got my guide with me. And I trust him, with everything now." 

Blair kissed him on the neck, and Jim groaned at the feel of it. "I can see that sex with a sentinel is going to be a new experience." 

"Don't tease me, baby," Jim said as he stroked Blair's hair, gasping a little at the feel of it. 

"Let's take this upstairs." 

Then Jim felt a hard ache in his chest at Blair's words, 'let's take this upstairs.' To continue it, to take it one step further, to feel Blair lying beside him, holding him tightly. Already Jim's cock started to harden, and he couldn't stop kissing Blair again, hard, engulfing his mouth as he ground his crotch into his guide. He took one last draft of lilac, then noticed the flowers around him. "Go," he said. "Get upstairs. I'll be there in two seconds." Blair bounded away from him, with an energy Jim had not seen since last spring. It made Jim smile suddenly, and he almost forgot to say, "Hey!" 

Blair turned around on the stairs. 

"You better have every stitch of clothing on you. I get to take those off." 

"Yes sir!" 

Jim turned to the kitchen counter, to the reason he had sent Blair upstairs before him. Quickly, he grabbed the most fragrant flowers with the softest stems. With the kitchen towel, he wiped away the water. Before he climbed the stairs, he stopped by the cd player, put in a cd he knew Blair liked, one of his mellower ones that Jim could stand, too. As he ascended the stairs, he caught a whiff of phosphorus from matches and the sweet smell of burning wax. Blair had lit all the candles Jim had in his room, candles that he had never lit before but Blair had convinced him to buy a long time ago. "I figured with your senses up, you'd appreciate candle light a lot more." 

"Thanks." 

Then Blair noticed the flowers. He climbed onto Jim's bed, sitting up on his knees. "Who are you, the hyacinth _boy_?" 

"The what?" Jim asked as he scattered the flowers on the mattress, one at a time, slowly, flirting with Blair, the hunger unmistakable. 

Blair was ready to play, too. He came closer. "It's from a poem, by T.S. Eliot." He leaned forward, to draw his finger along Jim's smooth jaw. In return, Jim traced a line from Blair's forehead to his crotch with a purple delphinium. "Yet when you came back," Blair started to quote in a husky voice that caused both Jim's cock and heart to stir, "late from the hyacinth garden, your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither living nor dead, and I knew nothing, looking into the heart of the light." 

"Damn, Chief," Jim gasped, climbing on the bed and dumping the remaining flowers in a clump. He grabbed Blair by the shoulders for a kiss. 

"Don't be too impressed," he replied with a smile. "When you cruise the universities, you learn these things . . . hot lines from obscure poems. Gets the English majors every time." He gave Jim a tight-lipped kiss. 

"Worked for me," Jim wrapped his arms around him. 

"Did it really?" Blair asked with a wicked tone. "How about this one?" He ran his hands up Jim's chest, felt how hard the muscles were underneath his flannel shirt, and the delicious curve of his pecs and the hard nipples. Jim almost became distracted, but then Blair's voice cut through the fog. "Loving you less than life, a little less than bitter-sweet upon a broken wall or brush-wood smoke in autumn, I confess I cannot swear I love you not at all. For there is about you, in this light -- a yellow darkness, sinister of rain -- which sturdily recalls my stubborn sight to dwell on you, and dwell on you again. And I am made aware of many a week I shall consume, remembering in what way your brown hair grows about your brow and cheek, and what divine absurdities you say: till all the world, and I, and surely you, will know I love you, whether or not I do." 

Jim was silent, frozen, staring with open mouth. 

"Hey? Jim? You okay?" 

"Who . . . was that?" 

"You mean the poem? Hold on, I'll think of it. Edna . . . Edna somebody. Edna St. Vincent Millay." Blair noticed that Jim was still taken aback. "What? What's wrong?" 

Jim smiled slightly. "I only wish you had told me that poem years earlier. It sums up my whole life with you, until now." 

Blair's eyes softened at the edges in a dopey grin. "Oh, Jim." 

"I'm sorry. I should have been the one to say that to you first." 

Blair pulled Jim forward, until they both fell on the bed. Jim stretched out to cover him, and Blair whispered, "Those are all I know." Jim gave him a pained expression that Blair could tell was fake. "Sorry, big guy. You've seduced an anthropologist, not a poet. I've shot my load." 

"Not yet, you haven't." Jim pressed his kiss on him again. Slowly, he began to unbutton Blair's flannel shirt, stopping after each button to look up playfully. Jim was always in control of himself, and Blair could already predict his future -- he would be teased to death at an early age. 

Jim peeled back Blair's shirt, uncovering his white thermal undershirt. Sitting up to straddle Blair's waist, he looked down one last time before turning his senses up as high as he dared. Then, he leaned down, pressed his open palms on Blair's chest, dragging them down along his flanks and relishing the firm flesh underneath the waffle-patterned cloth. In the candle light, Blair's lapis eyes sparkled, and his curly hair was alive with amber beads of light. 

Blair arched his back, his neck muscles stretching out in a tight curve, then grabbed Jim's legs, rubbing his hands against his faded jeans and grinding his crotch into Jim's ass. He couldn't believe the iron strength of Jim's leg muscles. "Jim, I can't believe this. This is finally happening. I'm finally touching you." 

"I know, baby, I know." Jim lowered himself gently, pulling Blair slightly onto his elbows, to push the flannel shirt off his shoulders. As Blair leaned his head back, Jim took that as an opportunity to lick that smooth neck, covering it with kisses from his jawline to the collar of his thermals. Jim stopped suddenly -- he realized Blair was wearing thermals. Granted, it was late spring, but it wasn't that cold. "Hey, Chief, are you gonna be cold if I take this off?" 

"Are you always gonna take this good care of me?" 

"You bet." Jim kissed him again, rubbing his ass on Blair's stiff cock. "Will you? Be cold?" 

"Not if you promise to keep me warm." 

Jim grinned, and his blue eyes twinkled. "I promise." He pulled the thermals free of Blair's jeans, and when he saw Blair's chest, he couldn't repress an "oh baby." Gently, he nudged Blair's nipple ring. "Does that hurt?" 

"No. It feels good. You can tug on it, a little." 

Digging his hands under Blair's back and cupping his shoulders, he sank down again, to dust Blair's chest with soft, dry kisses. He nuzzled the firm stomach that was covered in a thin layer of hair spreading up to his chest where it grew thicker. Jim kissed one nipple, teasing it with his teeth, swirling his tongue around its rim and tugging on a few hairs. Then over to his pierced nipple, pulling on it with his teeth. Pressing Blair into his chest, he kissed him, then into his armpit, swept across his chest until he stopped at Blair's scar where the bullet had passed through him that afternoon when Jack had died. It was a pink star, hairless. He peered into Blair's eyes for a moment. 

Blair stared at him, thinking, remembering, then he ran his hand over Jim's short brown hair. "Take off your shirt, big guy. Let me see what's under there." Jim gave a quick, closed-mouth grin, then sat up again to pull off his shirt. Blair whistled under his breath as his saw those tight abs first, then that meaty chest. Jim's torso was well defined, with rigid pecs, and only a slight trace of hair in a line between them. Then, starting at his navel, a tight line of dark brown hair trailed down into his jeans. Blair couldn't resist grabbing Jim's narrow waist, then running his hands up Jim's sides as high as he could reach. "Beautiful," he whispered. "Absolutely beautiful." Jim leaned down to rest on his hands, above Blair, so that his guide could explore his muscled chest. Blair squeezed the muscles, then pinched at Jim's nipples. "Jim?" 

"Hmm?" 

"Enough foreplay." 

Jim forced down a laugh as he scooped Blair into his arms, rolling him on top of his chest. As he crushed the flowers under his back, he released their scent into the air. Jim lifted his knees, cupping Blair's ass and pushing him into his own groin. His hands continued to explore, slipping under the rim of Blair's jeans. His fingers slid into the crease between his cheeks, touching the tight, curly hairs until he found Blair's sensitive bud. A fingertip circled the tight flesh, then Jim decided to just run his fingers back and forth over Blair's tight hole for now, listening to his gasp each time he passed over it. 

Now Jim wanted to see Blair completely nude, wanted to have him finally. He rolled Blair onto his back again, popped the button on his jeans, and carefully slid them free. Blair lay before him in just his socks, which made Jim smirk as he stripped them away. Jim found Blair truly beautiful, without the use of his heightened senses. With them, it only transformed him into a gilded statue as the candle light reflected off his sweat and hair. In his bushy crotch, his cock was so hard it stood free above his belly. It was longer than Jim expected, and thin, arching in a wicked curve and dark brown, with a reddish-brown head. His balls sagged, but as the cold air brushed across them, they pulled up tight into a hairy plum. Grabbing Blair's knees, he pushed them apart. With his open hands, he ran his palms down the length of his thighs, delighting in the zing of his hairy legs. 

Jim sank to the mattress, digging his nose into the space between Blair's balls and thigh, breathing in the thick musk of Blair's arousal. Then he ventured out his tongue to taste his skin, kissing his tight ballsac before sucking on him slightly. Blair's hand snapped onto Jim's head at that first touch, groaning loudly, then gasping as he felt Jim's breath on his sensitive skin at the sentinel's laugh. "Jim, buddy, no stopping." 

With his tongue, Jim's made one wide sweep along the curve of Blair's cock, pausing to nibble at the rim of the head. Blair's moaning grew into shouts, then a passionate sigh as the guide felt Jim's hot, wet mouth engulf him, followed by the strong suction. Jim took Blair slowly, in smooth, even strokes, loving the feel of the flesh as much as Blair relished his mouth, taking him deep into his throat, then sucking hard as he withdrew to the top. Up, down -- slow, measured movements until Blair's back was rising completely off the mattress. A few more heady strokes and Blair shouted, "Oh, god, Jim, I'm gonna come!" 

Jim released Blair's cock, then grabbed his wrists, pinning Blair to the bed. "Oh, no you're not. Not yet." 

Blair squirmed and moaned, "Jim, you are like _so_ evil. So evil. I will get you back!" 

"I plan on it." He listened carefully as Blair's heartbeat returned to normal then lowered himself to Blair's lips. All the while, he straddled Blair's legs, rising each time Blair tried to grind his cock into Jim's jeans. 

Finally, Blair pleaded, "Jim, I'm going nuts here. Don't tease me any more. Show me. I want to see you. Show me what you look like." 

Jim grinned, then rose up on his knees. Slowly, purposefully, as if performing a strip tease, Jim ran his hands down his carved chest, along his stomach, then snapped the top button of his jeans. When Blair tried to grab him, Jim pushed his hands aside. 

"Jim, damnit, you are such a tease!" 

"You have no idea, Chief. No idea." Blair, as aroused as he was, didn't notice that Jim was so keyed into his heartbeat, blood pressure, pheremones and breathing that he played each response like an instrument. His strong hands squeezed the muscles in Blair's chest, his fingers tugging at his chest hairs and plucking at his nipples. And Blair was so pitched, that even with his normal hearing, the ripping sound of Jim's zipper almost hurt his ears. He lifted his head from the bed to stare in hunger as Jim spread the flaps of his jeans like wings, pushing down. He reached into his boxers, and pulled his cock through. 

"Oh, Jim." Jim's cock hung before him, curving under its weight. Thick, with a rounded head. Long. Pale white. Smooth, with only one vein along the bottom. "Oh, I am in so much trouble." 

Jim sank down, resting on his elbows and cupping Blair's head in his hands. Twisting his hips, his heavy organ slid up and down Blair's stomach. "Blair," he whispered in a gentle voice. "I will never hurt you. Ever. I'm never going to do anything to you to hurt you, so I'm not even going to try to put this in you." 

"That's what you think, big guy," Blair said with a growl before nibbling on Jim's ear. "That's what you think." 

Grinning, Jim shoved his jeans and boxers down his legs then pushed Blair's legs apart with his knees. Blair responded by lifting his legs to encircle Jim's hips, and in one graceful stab, Jim slid his cock under Blair and between his cheeks, drilling between him and the mattress. Blair closed his eyes and rolled his head back, loving the sensation of Jim's thick cock sliding back and forth between his buttocks, rubbing the sensitive area. His hands groped Jim's muscled back, down his spine, cupping his ass muscles. While Jim sucked on his neck hard, marking him, Blair gasped, "I can't believe this is happening. I'm dead. I'm in a hospital somewhere--" 

"Don't say that--" 

"I'm hallucinating. This is too good to be true." 

Jim stroked Blair's face with his fingertips. "Believe it, baby. You finally own me." Then he kissed Blair's forehead. "I'm the one who's in shock. I can't believe this is finally happening at last. I've wanted you so badly." 

"Take me, Jim. If it takes all night, I want you inside me." 

Jim laughed briefly. "If that's what you want, baby. And we do have all night." Jim rolled onto his side, sliding his jeans off his ankles. Completely nude, he gasped, then moaned, as he felt Blair's naked body slip against his -- the skin, the body hair, the warmth, the weight, the burning hard cock, the pulse of his blood, the thick pheromone scent, the feel and smell of crushed flowers -- played against the full length of his sentinel body. Jim's eyes began to lose focus, and Blair grabbed the back of Jim's head. 

"Jim, don't zone. Stay with me." 

"Good god this feels -- so much." 

"I know, baby. Don't zone. Stay with me. Dial it down if you can't handle it." 

"Never," Jim laughed, then pulled his forehead to touch Blair's. "Never." But he almost shouted when Blair's warm hands grabbed his cock. 

Blair was fascinated. Jim was so much bigger than Jack. And thicker. With his fingers, he lightly traced the outline of Jim's cock, then wrapped his hand around it, stroking it. He didn't know if he could take all of it in his mouth, but with Jim's senses as high as they were, he wouldn't have to. Blair shuffled down awkwardly until his nose was deep in Jim's crotch, and he began to taste his skin with the tip of his tongue. Jim's body twitched with each lick along his balls and along the length of his shaft. Blair cupped his tongue around the head of Jim's cock, twirling it, before finally taking the head into his mouth. The guide listened as well as he could to Jim's moaning and breathing, then stopped before his climax could trigger. 

"Oh, baby," Jim moaned weakly. 

"Told you I'd get you back." 

"And how." He pulled Blair into him, rolling Blair's back to lie against his chest and maneuvering his cock between Blair's ass-cheeks while he nibbled on his neck. 

"Get me ready, Jim." 

"Are you sure?" 

"More than ever." 

Jim rolled Blair onto his stomach, then moved to sit on his knees between Blair's spread legs. His rear was so firm, and round, with a soft olive color in the candle light. Again, he used his senses to the fullest, his fingertips tracing the smooth skin, exploring the hairy crease and feeling the warmth. Leaning down, he nuzzled closely, nibbling the line from balls to anus while Blair squirmed in pleasure. He paused long enough to reach into the bedside table for lube and a condom. 

"Prepared, were we?" Blair asked. 

"Like a boy scout," Jim answered as he rolled the condom down his cock. He warmed the lube in his fingers before sliding it between Blair's cheeks. Gently, tenderly, he teased the entrance with circular motions before slipping a finger inside, slowly, past one knuckle, then pausing before inserting another. Blair pressed his face into the pillows and released a long, low moan as he lifted himself up to meet Jim's pressure. 

But Jim took it slowly, gauging Blair's muscles, feeling them twitch and relax. His second finger slid inside, stretching, finding his prostate and making Jim delight in Blair's louder moans. When his third finger entered, Jim lay down across his guide's leg, to kiss Blair's lower spine. Jim continued to fuck Blair with his fingers until Blair's hole was soft and fully opened. 

Without moving his hand, Jim sat up again between Blair's legs. Using his free hand on Blair's pelvis, he pulled Blair up slightly on his knees. Jim removed his hand and slicked his cock with lube. "Okay, baby," he whispered as he placed the head of his cock against Blair's anus, "go slow and push back." 

Blair did as Jim said, and the head passed inside him as he groaned and his back arched. "Slow, baby, slow," Jim chanted, brushing his hands down Blair's spine. "Get used to it. Don't let it hurt you." Slowly Blair impaled himself, and Jim was thankful for the thick condom. Without one, he would have come immediately. Blair decided the rhythm, slow withdrawals at first while Jim guided him then picking up speed. 

Yet Jim remembered the sheer drunkenness he had felt when Blair lay against him, covered him. He wanted that again, wanted to feel as much of Blair against him as he could. As he pulled out of Blair, his guide whined a protest. "Lie down on your side," Jim said softly as he fell against his flank, too. "Now lift your leg up." When Jim re-entered, he did so in a smooth motion that caused Blair to shout out Jim's name in one long syllable. Jim wrapped his arms around Blair, pulling him tight, pressing his nose into Blair's hair, feeling his back against his chest, Blair's rear cupped tight into his groin, his cock deep inside him, and their legs knotted together, curly black hairs teasing Jim. The sentinel closed his eyes to push back one of his senses, so close to being overloaded. 

Jim began a soft, full fuck, drilling into Blair again and again with tight, circular movements. He wrapped his fingers around Blair's cock, stroking him in unison to his thrusts, a consistent, even sensation as Blair's breathing grew more rapid and his heart pounded. 

Then Jim felt something strange. Something different. He could feel a tingling sensation everywhere Blair's skin touched his. The tingling grew more intense, and Jim was distracted. He didn't notice Blair's impending orgasm until Blair shouted out his name and the tingling became an electric wave that flowed over Jim so strongly that he could barely breath. His muscles began to quiver and shake as hot and cold flashes spread across his body and his vision flashed blue and green. Once his own orgasm sparked, Jim groaned as his body fell into spasms. The muscles in his groin twisted like cords, shaking him even harder. He gasped for his breath, and he knew he was beginning to panic. 

Blair was just as oblivious, panting as he felt Jim swell inside him. Once their orgasms ebbed and passed, he realized Jim was still shivering and gasping for breath. "Jim?" When he got no response, he lifted himself free of Jim's shrinking cock, then rolled to face him. "Hey, Jim?" He placed his hand against Jim's cheek. "You okay, big guy?" 

"Al -- almost," he panted. "G-g-give me a . . . second." It was almost a full minute before Jim's breathing returned to normal and he stopped shivering. 

"What happened there?" 

"I don't know," Jim said, weakly pulling Blair closer. Blair, feeling a little cold, draped both his legs over the side of Jim's hip and slid closer. Jim kept his arm behind Blair's head, and with his open hand, rubbed Blair's chest. "I could . . . feel you coming." 

"Well I should hope so," Blair joked. 

"No. I could feel it. Coming through your skin." 

Blair remained silent for a moment, thinking, enjoying the tender sensation of Jim's hand on his chest and stomach. "Maybe," he said, groping for words, "your sense of touch was turned up so high that your nerve receptors picked up on my endorphin rush . . . maybe." Jim didn't answer, but he did kiss Blair lightly on the cheek. "Worth investigating, don't you think, big guy?" 

"Very," Jim answered, kissing him deeply. 

Blair stretched his arms behind his head, to give Jim clear access to his chest and stomach. The sweet, warm strokes of the broad hand, rubbing softly between his neck and groin, rolled away any stress and tension he might have felt. He closed his eyes and drifted in pleasure. Finally, Jim whispered, "Are you happy?" 

"I have no right to be this happy." 

"You have every right." Jim continued to press his hand against Blair's body. "You have every right in the world." 

* * *

[Continued in part two](lovingyou2_a.html).


	2. Chapter 2

Due to length, this story has been split into three parts.

## Loving You Less Than Life III

By Kadru

Author's homepage: <http://www.mindspring.com/~kadru/index.html>

Disclaimer and notes can be found in part one. 

* * *

Loving You Less Than Life III -- part two  
By Kadru 

The next morning, Blair woke to find Jim's arms still wrapped around him. Jim's cock was hard and nestled between Blair's legs, poking through past his balls. Blair smiled, but all of a sudden unwelcome thoughts about Ian surfaced. /I hurt him,/ Blair thought, and this made him feel guilty. He lay there, unsure of what to do. /Oh, gods, Ian./ He tried not to think about it, but denial only made him feel worse. A few minutes later, Blair realized Jim was awake when he felt the sentinel's fingers toying with his nipples. 

"Morning, Chief." 

"Hey." Blair turned his head slightly to kiss Jim. Then Jim nuzzled deeper into Blair's curls and nibbled on his nape while he drilled his cock between Blair's legs, massaging his guide to match his own hardened length. 

"Blair?" 

No answer. 

"You okay?" 

"Yeah. Just a little hungry." 

"Hmm." Jim didn't say anything else, but he could sense something was wrong. "Want to get some breakfast?" 

"Breakfast? How about lunch?" 

"Lunch? What time is it?" 

"Eleven." 

Jim pressed his forehead against Blair's nape. "I had no idea I'd slept so long." 

"You and me both. I just woke up, too." 

"You aren't sore, are you?" 

"It's been a while." 

"I hurt you, didn't I?" 

"Jim, it felt great." 

"Good." 

Blair turned and kissed him on the chest. "You hungry?" 

"I could eat a horse." 

"Sorry. We're fresh out of horse." 

"I think we're fresh out of everything. I'll go take a shower, then run to the store and get groceries." 

"Since when does Jim Ellison get the groceries?" 

"Hey! I buy groceries." 

"Yeah, and I'm always scared of what you'll bring back." 

Jim smiled and kissed Blair on the neck. "Join me in the shower?" 

Blair thought for a second, feeling his remorse continuing to rise. /What am I supposed to say to either of them now?/ "Nah. I think I'll work on a list for you to take with you." 

Jim felt a little disappointed, but decided not to push it. "Okay, Chief. I'll leave you some hot water." 

Once Jim had showered and left, the phone rang. "Hello?" 

"Blair? It's Ian." 

"Ian." Blair suddenly felt numb. He sank onto the sofa. "What's up?" 

"I've been thinking about you all morning." 

/Stop it, please./ "Really? Why?" 

"Lately, the nights you've spent with me, I've slept so soundly. You bring me so much peace, Blair." 

"Oh, Ian--" 

"But last night, even though you weren't here, I still slept really well." 

"Huh?" 

"Because I dreamt about you." 

/Ian. Please. You don't know what's happened./ 

"I dreamt we were in bed together, and I was playing the guitar for you." 

"I . . . I didn't know you could play the guitar." 

"I can't. But I was so sure you loved me when you looked at me in my dream. I . . . I want to see that look again, Blair. It made me realize how much I want you... How much I love you, Blair 

Blair panicked. "Ian, I need to call you back." 

"You . . . what?" 

"I need to call you back." 

"Blair, what's wrong?" 

"It's . . . . I'll call you right back." Blair hung up the phone and pushed his back against the sofa cushions. "Oh, shit." 

* * *

When Jim came bounding into the apartment with a bag of sub sandwiches and sacks of groceries, he saw Blair staring intently out of the windows, toward the sound. "Hey, Chief, I got us some lunch." Blair's silence made Jim nervous. "Blair?" He came up behind him and placed his hands on his shoulders. 

As he leaned down to kiss him on the cheek, Blair stiffened. "Jim, we have to talk." 

Jim's heart skipped a beat. "About . . . about what?" 

Blair turned to face him. "Jim, I . . .can't . . ." Jim's face crumpled into regret and remorse. Things turned black around him, and his skin felt cold. He started to escape both Blair and his feelings, but the agony in Blair's tone -- pleading, distressed -- forced Jim to stop. Blair circled him, continuing to call out, "Jim--" He reached out, but Jim pushed Blair's hand away and tried to walk off again. "No, Jim, _please._ " Jim had never heard this tone of voice in Blair before, so beseeching and upset that he stopped against his will. "Please, Jim, please, don't close off from me. Please hear me. Please. Jim, I'm begging you, please hear me." 

Taking a breath, he whispered, "Hear what, Blair?" 

"I love you." 

His jaw tightened, and again he tried to pull himself away. 

"Please believe me. Please." 

Jim pushed Blair finally, and their faces were both wrenched as they tried to control their emotions. "Blair . . . last night . . . damnit this is so hard!" He turned to face the window in defeat. Blair approached slowly, and carefully he placed his hand on Jim's shoulder. Through the cloth of his shirt, the sentinel could feel his guide's hand trembling. "Last night . . . it wasn't just sex to me." 

"I know, Jim. It wasn't sex to me, either." 

"Then what was it?" Jim's angry voice returned, facing the younger man. "Huh? What was it to you?" 

"It was . . . something I had wanted for a long time. Something I don't deserve and--" 

"Stop it, Blair," Jim grabbed him by the arms. "Stop right now. It's one thing to feel insecure and believe that you don't deserve someone. But it's something altogether different to hurt somebody else because you can't deal with them." 

Blair closed his eyes and jerked away from Jim. "You're making this a lot harder." 

"Good." 

"Jim, I'm trying to tell you that I love you, and that I love Ian." 

"I . . . I can't share you with him, Blair." 

"I know that. And I know Ian wouldn't want to." After a few seconds of silence, Blair added. "And it's not what I want, either." 

"What . . . who . . . do you want?" 

Blair shook his head. "I don't know, Jim. And that's what I'm trying to say. I can't . . . have sex with you any more. Or Ian. Not until I figure this out. I can't . . . .do that to both of you. You both mean too much to me." 

They remained silent for a long while, before Jim finally moved. "I need some space." As he walked toward the coat rack to grab a jacket, Blair followed him slowly. 

"Jim?" The sentinel turned to face him as Blair tried to hand him a sandwich. "Take one of these with you." 

"I . . . I'm not hungry any more." When Jim shut the door behind him, Blair felt so guilty he wanted to cry. 

* * *

Ian hadn't anticipated any visitors, least of all Blair. "Hey," Blair offered weakly. 

"Blair. I wasn't expecting you." 

"Oh. Can I . . . come in? Or do you want me to come back later?" 

"No. You can come in." Ian's voice was so monotone that Blair felt his stomach cringe slightly. 

As he entered, Blair began, "Look, about this morning, I . . . I'm sorry." 

"Well that's a bloody start," Ian muttered as he walked toward the bar that separated the kitchen from the living room to pick up an opened beer bottle he had left on the counter. He didn't offer one to Blair. 

Judging by Ian's demeanor and expression, Blair could tell he was pissed, and he wasn't quite expecting that. He knew he needed to come over, apologize, and try and talk about what had happened last night with Jim. 

"Well?" Ian broke his thoughts. 

"I guess you're really mad." 

"'Really mad?'" Ian crossed his arms. "I tell you that I love you for the first time and you hang up on me?" 

Blair rubbed his face with his hands. /Oh, this is going to be worse than I thought./ 

Ian didn't give him a chance. "You didn't even hear me this morning when I said I love you, did you?" 

"Yes," Blair started, then admitted, "No." He threw up his hands. "Oh, Ian, I'm sorry." 

"Do you love me, Blair?" 

"What?" 

"Do you love me? It's not a hard question to answer." 

/You have no idea how hard this is./ Blair stared at the young doctor, so incredibly formal with his stiff British accent but at the same time so relaxed in his ratty jeans, bare feet and torn sweater. His dark almond-shaped eyes watched him from underneath a shock of black hair that fell across his eyebrows. Here was a literate, romantic, affectionate, caring, sexy man who related so easily with Blair, without all the clashes and difficulties he'd experienced with Jim. Taking a deep breath, Blair faced the emotions in his chest and admitted, "Yes. Yes, Ian, I'm in love with you." 

Ian set down his beer bottle behind him and crossed the room. Once he stood in front of Blair, he placed his hands on his arms. "Then what's wrong?" When Blair didn't answer, Ian added, "There is something wrong, isn't there?" 

Blair looked at Ian with troubled eyes. /How do I even begin?/ 

"You're not sick, are you?" 

"No, I'm fine." 

"Is it work? Is it school? What?" Blair pulled himself free of Ian's touch, turning his back on him, unable to face him. Then Ian knew. "It's Jim, isn't it?" 

"Yes." 

"Bloody hell," Ian mumbled as he walked away from Blair in shock until he reached the wide expanse of glass windows overlooking the sound. He didn't know what else to say. Something he had been afraid of since he started dating Blair had finally come true. How many times had he told himself to be careful, not to commit his heart to this man who was so obviously attached to his partner and case study and roommate? /This is emotional suicide,/ he had told himself before, and now he could feel it cutting into him. Then he felt Blair touch him on the shoulder. 

"So what happened? Did you sleep with him?" 

"I'm sorry, Ian. It just happened." 

"I see. You say you love me, but this just happened? You didn't stop to think about me while it was happening?" 

Blair said with some heat, "Ian, I'm in love with Jim, too. All right? What the hell was I supposed to do? What choice was I supposed to make?" 

"The choice is between us. Jim, or me." 

"And if I knew that answer, I would have made it. But right now I don't know which way is up and I'm so confused. I just don't know what to say. I don't know what to do." 

Ian took a deep breath before he said, "What do you want?" 

"I just want to know what I should do. I'm so . . . confused." 

Ian faced him. "Know that I love you. Know that I can easily see the two of us growing old together, and that I like the thought of that. Know that I would cherish you forever." Blair sighed, closing his eyes. Then Ian added bitterly, "I guess that doesn't help you." 

"No, it doesn't. It's all mixed up inside me -- you and Jim and Jack . . . I'm in love with all of you. How can I choose?" 

"What if I decide for you, Blair? What if I decide that dating you is insane and that I should just leave?" 

"Is that what you want?" 

Ian looked at Blair and his emotions rebelled. "No," he admitted. 

"I don't want that either, Ian. But what I do want is to treat you both with decency and respect . . . something I haven't been very good at lately. I don't want either of you to think that I'm using you. I say I want space, but I need to spend time with you, with both of you, while my heart decides what to do. I just don't want either of you to think that I'm just sleeping with you, without emotions, without it meaning something. I don't want that. Can you understand that?" 

Thinking for a moment, Ian answered. "My head does. My heart doesn't." 

Sighing, Blair replied, "Neither does mine." 

* * *

After leaving Ian's apartment, Blair chose to eat dinner alone, watching the sun set behind the Olympics. His mind juggled thoughts of Jim, thoughts of Ian, advantages and disadvantages, points and counter-points in the hope that somehow his brain would finally overrule his blood, but nothing was resolved. When the image of Jim came to his mind, his body reacted just as passionately as when his mind imagined Ian. 

Deep down, he knew he would be happy with either man. That wasn't his dilemma. His real dilemma was how he felt about himself. He was being a total pig, jerking both men around, and no matter how he managed it, he would still be hurting someone who made his whole world sing. And that, more than anything, twisted his gut. He didn't want to hurt anyone. Not deliberately. /Right, Blair. Tell that to Marshall Aigle./ Blair rubbed his face with his hand. /That was different,/ he tried to tell himself. /He hurt Jack./ He thought about it a little more. /Maybe this is what growing older is all about. Or maybe, growing up. I've been chasing people for so long, skimming through life, all the while bragging to Jim that I'm living life to the fullest. Well I've never lived life to the fullest. I've never felt life all the way through. I've never really fallen in love until Jack. Now I'm paying the dues. Now I'm getting the karmic whiplash. You want love, Blair Sandburg? Well, now you've got it, from both barrels. Hurts real good, doesn't it?/ Slowly, he climbed back into the car and drove home, aching for sleep. 

Blair opened the door to the loft and didn't bother to look over at Jim. He could tell he was standing over the kitchen sink, probably cleaning up after dinner. Jim watched him walk past, and he started to say something, but when he opened his mouth, he realized he didn't know how to begin. Only empty air fell out. He saw Blair slowly cross the floor to his room, shutting the door behind him. Jim could practically feel his exhaustion. /Guess things didn't go too well with Ian./ And when he thought this, the sudden realization that he really didn't handle it very well either crossed his mind. /I guess he thinks we both hate him now./ Jim pulled out two heavy mugs, filled them with water and set them into the microwave to heat while he searched for some herbal tea bags. 

A few minutes later, he tapped on Blair's door. "Hey, Chief, I made you some tea. Can I bring it in to you?" 

He heard Blair give a defeated sigh, which hurt him some. Then Blair answered, "I guess." Opening the door was awkward with two hot mugs, but once inside, Jim adjusted his eyes to the darkness. Blair was lying on his bed, on top of the covers, in a fetal position. Jim sat down by Blair's back, reaching across him to put his tea on the bedside table. Blair didn't move. 

"Blair, can I say something?" 

"Jim, I feel like the worst human being in Cascade right now. Just . . . just don't say something to make me feel any worse." 

"I don't want to. I just wanted to say I was sorry." 

" _You're_ sorry?" 

"I didn't mean for last night to cause so much trouble. It just sort of happened. I couldn't stop myself." 

"I know, Jim. I don't really . . . regret it happening, but . . . I mean, I don't want you to be upset with me." 

"That's kind of what I wanted to tell you. That I'm okay with this. That I understand. I know why you want to put some distance between us, and I know you don't want to hurt either me or Ian. So don't think I'm upset about that." 

"You were this morning." 

"I know I was this morning. It took me by surprise. I . . . I thought it was because last night wasn't good enough for you . . . or something." 

Blair sat up in the dark. He could only see Jim's silhouette, so he reached out to lay his hand against his cheek. "No," he whispered. "It wasn't that." 

Jim rubbed his face against Blair's palm, but when his emotions became too intimate, he stopped and took Blair's hand in his. "Blair, I know this isn't quite your style, but I'm playing for keeps." 

"Jim--" 

"Let me finish. And when you pushed me back this morning, I had every thought running through my head until you said you were going to tell Ian the same thing. If you weren't playing for keeps, too, sleeping with both of us wouldn't have bothered you." 

"I am playing for keeps, Jim." 

"It took me a while today to realize it. So I'm okay with this. I can wait until you're comfortable and you can make a decision. And Blair, you're my guide, and my partner, and my friend. You'll always be in my life, regardless of whether we're lovers or not. I just want you to be happy. So if Ian is a better choice for you, I . . . I can live with that." 

"Really?" 

"I do want you, Blair, but more than that, I want you to be happy." He brushed Blair's hair behind his ears, then kissed him on the forehead. "So don't stress out about this. Take your time. I can wait as long as you need, and I'll always be here. So drink your tea, then get some sleep." 

Blair touched Jim's face one last time. "Thanks, man." He could almost see Jim's smile in the faint light. 

* * *

The next day, Blair was sitting in the library at Rainier with his notebook open. One hand cupped his chin, while with the other he tapped his pen against the paper. The intrusion of Collin's southern drawl jarred even more than usual. "Well," he sat down across from Blair, "I'd say you look like you've left your cake out in the rain." 

"You know, Collin," Blair began, feeling unexpectedly mean. "I sometimes wonder if that accent of yours isn't fake." 

Collin rolled his eyes as he stood up. "Forget this," he said with a wave. "I can be pissy on my own time." 

"Wait, Collin, I'm sorry. I'm just in like the most vile mood ever." 

Collin sat down again, "What's wrong?" 

"I . . . I slept with Jim this weekend." 

"Wait. When did you break up with the doctor?" 

"I haven't." 

"You mean, you haven't _yet_." 

"I don't . . . I don't want to break up with Ian yet." 

"So what are you going to do about Jim? You two aren't going to start dating, are you?" 

"Actually, we have been dating." 

"I'm confused. Weren't you dating Ian? Didn't he take you to Banff for the weekend?" 

"Yeah. That was the same weekend that Jim asked if we could start dating." 

"So . . . you've been going out with two guys . . . at the same time?" 

"Basically." 

"And . . ." Collin rolled his hand in a circle, "the problem is . . . ?" 

"Collin, please." 

"Ah," Collin started to feed it back to Blair, "torn between two lovers. End up like a fool." 

Blair tossed his pen at him. "You are like so not helping." 

With a good-natured laugh, Collin said, "I don't think there's gonna be any more studying today. Come on, let's go get a beer." 

* * *

Later than night, Blair sat slumped over his laptop, shaking his head in frustration as Jim walked in. "Hey, Chief," he said as he kissed him on the cheek. "You look like shit." 

"Gee, thanks. That'll win you points." 

"Keeping score, now, huh?" Jim replied, a little too mean. His voice was much more humble when he said, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that." 

"Yes, you did. And I deserved it." 

Jim pulled up a chair and sat down beside him. "So what's bothering you?" 

"Here, look at this," Blair said as he pushed his laptop toward him. Jim looked at the graph on the screen. A red line made an even mark across the top, while a blue one slipped in a gentle curve. 

"What am I looking at?" 

"The red line is your hearing range, in feet, over time. The blue is Tom's." Jim grew very quiet. Blair leaned over and flashed a second graph. On this one, the red line again remained even, while the blue line dipped at an even greater rate. "This is Tom's rate of sight, in feet." 

"Blair, I don't understand." 

"I don't either, but for some reason, Tom's losing his abilities." 

"Do you think he might be losing it, just like I did? Tom hasn't mentioned anything about having to chose to be a sentinel. Has he said anything to you?" 

"No. He hasn't mentioned any spirit guides or anything." 

"Maybe I should talk to him." 

"I was hoping you would. He's been having these headaches, too. But I don't know if that has anything to do with it or not." 

* * *

Blair was in his office in Rainier when the phone rang. "Professor Sandburg." 

"There you are." He recognized the British accent. "I've been looking for you all over." 

"Ian. What's up." 

"Are you free this Friday." 

"Of course." 

"Good, then it's a date." 

"Oh really," Blair laughed. "You think it's that easy, do you?" 

"I do have one question to ask, though. I hope you won't be offended." 

"Go ahead." 

"Have you got a tuxedo?" 

"Ian, that is so offensive." 

"Oh, Blair, I'm so sorry," he returned in a genuine apology. "I knew you'd get upset." 

"Ian, I'm joking. Gods, you are so gullible sometimes." 

"Oh, thank god. . . . well?" 

"No, I don't have a tux." 

"Can I pick you up at lunch and take you to a rental shop? We might be able to get something in time." 

"Sure. You know where I am." 

* * *

That Friday, Blair dressed in his tux while Jim watched. He had seen Blair in a tux before, and it still took his breath away. Unable to stay away from him, Jim tried to help Blair get dressed. "Jim, I can dress myself." 

"What's the fun in that?" 

"Down, boy. Down." Blair tied his hair back into a neat pony-tail with a burgundy silk ribbon to match his cummerbund. "Why aren't you out with Simon tonight?" 

"He's got Daryl." 

At the knock on the door, Blair said, "I'll get that." 

"Thank you," Jim said softly. "I'd appreciate that." Even so, he could still see Ian through the doorway, and he had to admit the tuxedo'd Japanese doctor was an image of grace and striking beauty. 

On the elevator ride to the car, Ian turned to Blair and said, "Damn, Blair, you look bloody incredible." 

"I could say the same about you." He stepped out of the elevator first and held open the door for Ian. "So where are we going, all dressed up like a couple of penguins?" 

"To Vancouver." 

"Vancouver? What's in Vancouver?" 

"The Vancouver Aquarium. In Stanley Park. Have you ever been?" 

"Yeah, I've been a few times. Great park up there. So, again, why are we going dressed to the nines?" 

"I'm one of the patrons at the aquarium, and they're having a fund raiser tonight." 

Once in Vancouver, they walked toward the aquarium entrance. Blair stopped at a huge bronze statue of an orca positioned over a fountain. The statue was carved in the geometric patterns typical of the Native American tribes from the area. "I love this statue," Blair commented. 

"It is beautiful." 

"It would make a good tattoo, don't you think." 

Ian measured him with a glance. "A bit too big for you." 

Blair gave him a jovial shove, and together they entered the aquarium. That night, Blair did his best to be pleasant with the snobbish, monied crowd. Some of the women wore jewelry which could have paid off his student loans, and as they nibbled at watercress sandwiches, Blair secretly wished that some of it would stick between their teeth. He shadowed Ian for a while, making idle conversation with some of the people before he realized that he was surrounded by one of the most glorious aquariums in world. He had no reason to stand around and talk to these people. 

As he strolled through the aquarium, he felt his body relax, tune itself to the smooth rhythms of the water, and flow with the grace and ease of the great sharks. When he stepped into the heat of the Amazon exhibit, his mind drifted back to the time he had spent with Jim in Peru looking for Simon and Daryl. He began to miss his sentinel, alone tonight in Cascade. About thirty minutes later, he looked up and saw Ian staring at him with a casual smile. They were alone in the room, and Ian asked, "You can't stand these people, can you?" 

"I'm a horrible person, aren't I?" Blair answered with a smile. 

"Please," Ian laughed. He looked around. "At least they put their money to good use." 

"Yeah, I know. That's why I can't say anything really bad about them." 

"People like me with more money than they know what to do with it?" 

"You aren't like them," Blair said, coming closer. 

"I hope not. I had hoped, though, that you could have held out a little longer." 

"Why?" 

"Because I wanted to slip away _with_ you." 

Blair laughed, then reached for his hand. "Come on. I can see this place all over again." 

Hand in hand, they strolled through the aquarium, stopping at almost every tank. As they passed through the arctic exhibit, Blair stood fascinated, watching the beluga whales roll in their tank. He didn't notice the aquarium employee approach and wink at Ian. Ian grinned, then said, "Blair?" 

"Yeah?" He didn't take his eyes from the tank. 

"I want you to meet somebody." Blair turned and saw the young woman standing beside the doctor. She had on a wet suit underneath her polo style shirt. "Blair, this is Carol. She's one of the trainers." 

"Really?!" Blair launched over towards her. "Do you train these guys?" 

Laughing, she answered, "Yes. I work with the belugas." 

Ian leaned forward and said, "And Carol, this is Blair Sandburg." 

"Oh, I'm sorry," Blair began, blushing, then he held out his hand to shake hers. "Good to meet you." 

"But she's not the one I wanted you to meet." 

"Oh? Who then?" 

Ian nodded in the direction of the tank. Blair looked over his shoulder at the huge, white whale floating outside, staring at them. Looking back at Ian, Blair's eyes grew huge and his mouth dropped. He pointed at the tank. At this, Ian just nodded again, his smile wide and glowing. 

Carol took him by the arm. "Come on. I'll get you some wading boots to protect that gorgeous suit of yours, aye?" 

As he stood at the edge of the tank, Blair was practically quivering with excitement. The belugas, on the other hand, ignored him. They were more excited to see their trainer with a bucket of fish, and they rose out of the water with squeaks and clicks. Carol showed Blair how to hold the fish so that the white whales could take them. "Here," she said, "don't be afraid." 

Blair stretched his hand out to touch the smooth, wet skin. "He's so cold." 

"It's the water," Carol answered. "We keep the water as cold as it would be in the arctic." 

"Man, I am so glad I'm not a whale." 

"Why, do you not like cold water?" 

"Me? I hate being cold." 

"Not these guys. They have a thick layer of blubber that keeps them warm." 

A smaller whale came up to Blair. "That one's Quila," Carol said. 

"Hello, Quila." Blair petted her. 

"She's our baby. She was born here a few years ago." After about thirty minutes, Carol mentioned, "We should be getting back before the others' notice. I'll do this for Ian, but not for all those other 'ladies-who-lunch.'" As they walked away, one of the whales sprayed the group with water. "Oops," Carol said as she hurried the men out of the area. "I meant to tell you that they sometimes do that when they're playing." 

"Don't worry," Ian said. "I doubt we ruined anything. Thank you, Carol." 

"My pleasure, Ian." 

All of a sudden, Ian was tackled. Blair had grabbed him in such a fierce hug that he nearly fell backwards into the sea otters. "Thank you thank you thank you thank you--" spilled from Blair's lips. 

Continuing to hold him tight, Ian replied. "I'm sorry I made you sit through all that boring stuff. This was the real reason I brought you up here with me." 

Blair kissed him hard. "Gods, this was like so cool! I can't wait to tell my mother. She would totally freak out. I touched a whale! I touched a whale!" 

* * *

When Blair left, Jim felt a little depressed. He had no idea where Ian was taking his guide, but if it involved a tuxedo, he knew he was doing something so grand and extreme that Jim would never be able to compete. Still, Jim continued on with the evening's plans, sitting down at the kitchen table to work on their budget. He was surprised when Blair came blasting into the apartment. Jim looked at his watch and wondered where the time had gone. Looking up at the excited expression on his guide, Jim felt his heart fall a few notches. He stood up to greet him. 

"Jim, you'll never guess what I just did! I touched a whale, man?!" 

"A whale-man?" 

"No. A whale. A beluga whale. The ones at the Vancouver Aquarium." 

"Oh." Jim stood over him, kissing him softly on the forehead. As he pulled back, he breathed in deeply, cataloging the scents. Perfumes. Colognes. Blair's pheromones. Ian's. No musky scent of sex. 

Instantly, Blair realized what he was doing. "Did I pass?" he asked with just a hint of a chill. 

Jim handled it calmly. "Sorry. I was that obvious, was I?" 

"I guess I'll never be able to cheat on you." Blair left to go to his room to strip out of his tux, but on his way, he noticed a blank spot in the corner of the loft. 

"Hey, Jim?" 

"Yeah?" 

"What happened to that god-awful wooden thing you bought?" 

"Huh?" 

"You know -- the wooden blight-on-humanity Indian." 

"I sold it. The guy came by tonight to pick it up." 

Blair, forgetting about his tux, stepped over to the table. "Why?" 

"You hated it, didn't you?" 

"Yeah, but I never meant for you to get rid of it. You said you had always wanted one." Then Blair noticed all the papers spread out across the table. Picking up one of the brochures, Blair read the cover. "A hot water heater? . . . Oh, man, please tell me the hot water heater isn't broken." 

Jim smiled. "No, Chief, the hot water heater's not broken. I'm just looking at buying us a new one. A larger one, so we won't keep running out of hot water." 

"Really?" Blair sat down beside him, a little stunned. "Can we afford one?" 

"I think so. I've been working on a budget all night. I could use your help, though." 

"My help? For real?" 

"No, not really. But I wouldn't mind -- but you'd have to keep the tux on while you helped me." 

Blair grinned, then replied, "Let me get a beer, and I'll join you." 

* * *

The two drove together to the monastery that Saturday. Once there, Jim spotted Tom, not far away. As they walked across the field towards him, Jim kept praying, /Please see us, Tom. Please hear us./ But Tom didn't notice them until they were only a few feet away. 

"Blair? Jim?" Tom seemed startled but covered up for it quickly by looking up at the sun. "I guess it is time for your visit," he said with a smile. Crooking his arm around Blair's, he escorted him toward the monastery. "So how are you this week?" 

"I'm fine, Tom, but I'm worried about you." 

"About me? There's nothing wrong with me, Blair" 

"Isn't there? Why is your hearing and sight distances going down?" 

Tom fell very quiet, and he glanced down at the grass below his feet as they continued to walk. 

"Tom?" Jim suddenly said, flanking his other side. "Talk to me. What's going on here?" 

"Nothing, Jim. Everything's fine." 

Then Blair noticed it. "Tom? Tom, your . . . your nose is bleeding." 

"What?" Tom brought his fingers to his upper lip, and when he saw his fingertips glistening red, he groaned, then pinched the bridge of his nose while squeezing his eyes tight. "Oh, this. It's nothing. Don't worry about it. It'll stop. Let's go inside so I can get a cloth to wipe my face." 

Tom took two more steps before collapsing at their feet. Jim lifted him quickly, propped him across his thighs and held his head. 

"Tom? Tom? Wake up, Tom. Quick, Blair, go get Father Andrew." Blair bolted away from them, and Jim continued to call out to his friend. "Tom? Tom, what's wrong?" 

By the time Blair had returned with Father Andrew, Tom had begun to revive. "Tom," Jim began, "what happened?" 

"I . . . I just got tired, that's all." 

"Tom, that's a lie and you know it. You're losing weight every time I see you. You have these headaches and you're losing your senses. What's going on here?" 

"Brother Thomas," Father Andrew interrupted. "Haven't you told Jim and Blair what's going on?" 

"No, Father," he replied angrily. "And I don't want them to know." 

"No, Thomas. If what you've said is true, that Jim has this miracle, also, then he deserves to know what's happening." 

"I can't make him worry over this. I can't do it." 

"Thomas, don't make me command you." 

"Please, Father." 

"Tom," Jim broke in. "Please tell me what's wrong. This . . . not knowing is just as bad." Tom looked up at Jim, his upper lip still shining red and his eyes bloodshot. He stared into his eyes. "Tom?" Still nothing. "Please." 

Taking a deep breath, he answered. "Jim . . . Jim, I have cancer." 

"No--" 

"They . . . they can't operate on it. It's the reason I came here. I came here to die." 

After a moment of silence, Father Andrew added, "You must tell him the rest. Jim needs to have the opportunity to make the same choices you did. Imagine what your life would have been like if you hadn't known." 

Tom took another deep breath and gave in. "Very well. But, please, not out here. I need to lie down." 

Jim and Blair carried Tom back into the dormitory. Everyone was extremely quiet as they assisted him to his cell. After Tom was comfortable, Jim muttered, "Please, Tom. Please tell me what this is all about." 

Tom ran his hand over the top of his head, feeling how thin his hair had become. Then he looked over at Jim, at his receding hair line. "Jim, my gift . . . I know how it came about . . . the mechanics." 

"How?" 

"When I got back from Irian Jaya, I was a patient in a hospital in Virginia. It was there that I started noticing something was wrong with my senses. The gift came to me there, in the hospital. But not long after, I was contacted by someone, another patient there who I had become friends with. He was dying . . . dying of cancer . . . tumors in his brain. He told me of a group, of an underground network of patients who had all been treated in this hospital." Tom took a deep breath, then began again. "Jim, we were being experimented on." 

Jim drew back. 

"They were injecting us with drugs to make our senses stronger. We had no idea this was happening. We didn't sign any consent forms. We were just unwilling lab rats. But it made us hypersensitive." Tom stopped to give Jim a chance to speak, and when he remained quiet, Tom asked, "Jim, were you ever treated in a hospital in Rallinsburg, Virginia?" 

Jim swallowed hard, then answered weakly, "Yes." 

Blair's eyes grew round in shock. 

"When I got back from Peru. I was there for about six weeks." 

Tom gripped his hand. "Jim, I am so sorry." 

"What are you saying?" Blair asked in horror. 

"Blair, I think Jim was exposed to the same drug we all were, to one called GATC 525. I have no idea what it is or how it's made, but it turns men into super soldiers, who can see and smell and taste, all the senses that Jim and I share. If Jim has them, it has to be because he was exposed to the same drug treatments I and who knows how many soldiers were exposed to in that military hospital." 

"And this means," Jim said slowly, "that I have cancer, or that I will have cancer eventually." 

Tom looked up at him with sad eyes. "Yes." 

"No," Blair countered. "You said this was a miracle. You said this was a gift." 

"It was . . . it is a gift, Blair. I can treat this as a gift of evil and wallow in my pain, or I can treat it the way I have, as a gift of incredible beauty. For all the years that I have had this gift, I have loved my life, and I wouldn't have traded any of it. But I knew it would kill me eventually, and that is why I chose this life, this life here in St. Matthew's . . . Jim?" 

"What?" 

"It was wrong of me to keep this from you. You should have every opportunity to live your remaining years to their fullest. Please forgive me." 

"Tom, I can't hold this against you. You didn't want me to worry." 

"No, I didn't." 

"This . . . this is insane," Blair said, standing and beginning to panic. "Jim, you had this gift as a child, and you had it in Peru. Don't start thinking that because Tom has cancer that you will. You're a natural sentinel, and he's a mass produced one." 

Jim grabbed Blair fiercely, and he whispered through clenched teeth. "You will get a hold of yourself. You will not upset Tom and you will not talk of Tom's gift as if it's some machine. You and I will work this out later. Understood?" 

Blair was shocked to hear Jim slap down his emotions so forcefully. He sat down in a chair across from Tom's bed and kept quiet for the rest of the afternoon. Jim returned to Tom's bedside, where he waited until Tom fell asleep. 

* * *

Dr. Everett looked at his chart first before knocking on the door to the examination room. Jim remained silent as he sat on the edge of the bed, the thin paper crinkling a little beneath him. "So how are we today, Jim?" 

"I feel okay." 

"Hmm." Dr. Everett came closer. "So what seems to be the problem?" 

"I need . . . I need to see if I have cancer." 

Dr. Everett eyed him with a look of good-natured patience as if he were dealing with a child instead of a grown man. "Now, Jim, we did a complete physical not more than two months ago after you were exposed to all those chemicals in that warehouse explosion. You had no signs of cancer then. What would make you think you have it now?" 

"I just found out . . . that I was exposed to a certain chemical when I was with the Rangers. Every other soldier that's been exposed to this has died of cancer." 

"Hmm." Dr. Everett scratched at his chin. "What sort of chemical?" 

"It was an experimental drug, called GATC 525. It's classified, so I can't get any more information on it." 

"How did you find out about it?" 

"One of my . . . friends from Basic. He's dying of it now." 

"Where does the cancer manifest itself?" 

"He has several tumors behind his eyes." 

"Hmm. Is he from this area?" 

"Yes. He's a monk at St. Matthew's." 

"Did he come here to be diagnosed? Maybe I could compare his chart to yours. See if I can spot some early warning signs." 

"I don't know. You could check. His name's Tom Poulsen." 

Dr. Everett wrote the name down, then became silent, thinking. "Jim, I can sympathize with you being a bit nervous. But your last physical didn't show any indications that you had cancer." 

"How can we be sure?" 

"Well, I can do another blood test, see if there's an elevated level of calcium in your blood." 

"Calcium?" 

"Yes. The body releases calcium in the blood when there are tumors in the body. I can have the nurse draw blood, then I can call you this afternoon." 

"What about an x-ray, or a scan?" 

"I don't think that would be advisable yet. It would just be an expensive waste of money, and I don't think your insurance would even approve it without some cause. Let's start with the blood test and go from there." 

* * *

Blair waited for Jim near the nurses station. "Well?" Jim walked past without saying anything, his jaw clenched tight. "Jim? Hello? Did he say anything?" 

"Nothing. He didn't say anything." 

"So what happened?" 

"He did a blood test. Said he'd look at Tom's records." 

"When do you find out?" 

"This afternoon." 

"You really think you've got cancer, don't you?" 

Jim stopped in the hallway. "Why wouldn't I?" 

"For one, you don't know if you were really exposed to this stuff." 

"Chief, I'm a sentinel. Tom's a sentinel. We were both in the Ranger's together. We were both in the same hospital. Of course I got exposed to it." 

"Jim, that's not altogether true. You were a sentinel before you joined the Army. You even said you could sense things when you were a child." 

"It's too much of a coincidence, Blair." 

"So what happens today if your blood test comes back negative?" Jim didn't answer him as he started back down the hall again. Blair called out, "You're going to keep worrying about it, aren't you? You're going to keep thinking this is going to happen to you." 

"Yes, Chief, I am. Tom knows of others like us, all of them dead or dying. I'm the only one who's not . . . yet." 

"Okay, Jim, what's it going to take to convince you that you don't _have_ cancer and you won't be _getting_ cancer?" 

Jim stopped at the doorway. "The only thing that's going to convince me is if I know I wasn't exposed to any of these drugs." He stepped out into the cold, wet air. 

"Then let's get the proof," Blair chased after him. 

"It's classified, Darwin. There _is_ no getting it." 

As they climbed into the truck, both remained quiet. Then, a few blocks from the station, Blair said, "What if I ask Ian?" 

"About what?" Jim's voice was icy, but Blair pressed on. 

"You remember Ian telling me he had worked for a project with the government, experimenting on soldiers." 

"Ian did not experiment on me, Chief." 

"I'm not saying that. But he did say that some of the soldiers started dying of cancer. He might at least be able to tell us something about it. He might even recognize the drug. Or, he might know someone who can at least look to see if they have a file on you, and maybe even get a copy of the file out if it exists." 

"I'll think about it," Jim said with a final growl. 

"No, you won't think about it," Blair countered. "And you won't because of your pride." 

At the station, Jim pulled up sharply. "I have a lot of reasons why I don't want to ask Ian. And one of those reasons is you." He jumped out of the truck and slammed the door after him. 

"Jim, wait up!" Once Blair had caught up with him, he said, "Don't do this to me, man. You think I'm not worried about this, but I am. I don't want to think of you having cancer, and I want you to stop thinking about it, too. I know you, man. You won't be able to control this fear and it's going to drive you nuts, and in the end, you're going to take it out on me." Jim stopped, but he looked over Blair's head to avoid eye contact. Blair touched his arm. "Come on, big guy. This bothers me, too. And it especially bothers me that you won't seek help because you think I'll leave you for the guy who might be able to help us." 

Jim lifted up his hand. "I don't want to talk about this." He walked past, then said over his shoulder, "And I don't want to talk about it here." 

"Jim, can _I_ ask him?" 

"No! I don't want you talking to him about me!" 

Blair changed his tactic. With a soft voice and pleading eyes, he asked, "If I asked you to do it for me, would you?" Jim's shoulders sagged, and he walked away again, this time running his hand over his hair. Blair just watched him leave. 

A few minutes later, Blair came into the bullpen. He heard Jim saying into the phone, "Thanks, Doc. I'll wait to hear back from you." 

"What? Was that Dr. Everett?" 

"Yes." 

"Well? What is it?" 

"Negative. There's no sign in the blood work." Jim stood up and went into the bathroom to be alone. 

But later that night, back at the loft, Blair brought the subject up again. "I know you don't want to talk about this--" 

"Then why bring it up?" 

"Because I need to know. Because you need to know." 

"Blair," he whined. 

"Please, Jim. For me. For my peace of mind. Don't you think I feel guilty enough?" 

"For what reason this time?" he asked, exhausted. 

"If Ian and I, and you, weren't in this weird situation right now, then you would have certainly asked him for help." 

"So why does that make you feel guilty?" 

"Don't you get it? It's me. I'm the reason you won't ask. You practically said so this afternoon." 

"Okay, fine. Just do it, damnit." Jim tried to walk away but Blair followed after him. 

"Jim, hold up, okay?" 

"What now, Chief?" 

He pulled him into a reluctant hug. "I just wanted to say thank you." 

Jim sighed out loud, then hugged Blair back. 

"Jim? Do you want to be with me, when I ask?" Jim didn't answer. "I just thought you might want to know what I say." 

"Whatever, Chief, I'm just tired of thinking about it." 

"Good. We can go by his office tomorrow before we go to the station." 

* * *

Blair had called Ian early to make sure he'd be free to see him, but he didn't tell him Jim would be coming, or even why he wanted to see him. On the way, he asked himself why he hadn't said anything. /Maybe I don't want him to be anxious,/ he thought. Then his subconscious answered, /So, what, you're just going to surprise him?/ 

He knocked on the frosted glass. "Come in." Blair peered in. "Blair, it's good to see you," Ian said with a soft, husky voice. He stood up and came around the desk for a kiss, then stopped a few inches away from his lips when he saw the door open wider and Jim step in. "Oh, Jim," he moved back awkwardly, then looked at Blair, confused. "What's going on?" he asked with some trepidation. He eyed Jim with a hint of dare, which Jim returned with his own territorial glare. 

"Ian, we need your help," Blair said. Looking over at Jim, he added, "I know this is awkward for both of you. Jim doesn't want to be here," he said before looking back to Ian, "and I realize this is uncomfortable for you, too. But we need your help. It's important . . . to both of us." 

Ian was quiet for a moment. "What is it?" he asked. 

Jim shut the door behind him, and Blair began, "We think Jim might have been experimented on, against his will, while he was in the Army." 

Ian suddenly became very pale. "You . . . you don't think I had anything to do with it?" 

Blair touched his arm to calm him. "No, we know you didn't. We were hoping that you might recognize the drug that was used." 

Clearly uncomfortable, Ian sat back down at his desk, trying to put distance and objects between him and his past. He ran his hands through his hair, taking his time. "You know I don't like to even think about this." 

"I know, Ian, I know. I'm not doing this to hurt you. We just . . . we didn't know who else to turn to." 

He shook his head and asked, "Do you know what it was you were exposed to?" 

Jim answered, "Yes. Some chemical named GATC 525." 

Ian buried his face in his hands. 

"You know what this drug is, don't you?" Blair asked as he sat down in the chair opposite him. 

"Yes," he mumbled. 

"What kind of drug is it?" 

He looked up at Blair. "It's not a drug, precisely. It's a genetically enhanced hormone that causes the pituitary gland to begin producing a series of hormones." 

"What does it do?" 

When Ian didn't answer immediately, Jim offered, accusingly, "It turns men into sentinels, doesn't it?" 

"In a manner of speaking. It does enhance the brain's ability to interpret sensory data." 

"But it causes cancer." Jim leaned in closer, his voice still accusatory. "Doesn't it?" 

"Yes. Malignant tumors begin to form in the sensory processing regions of the brain." Jim collapsed into the chair beside Blair. Then Ian asked, "But you knew this already, didn't you?" 

"We knew about the cancer part," Blair confessed. 

"Then why bring me into this? Why dredge up all these bad memories--" 

"Because we don't know for sure if Jim was exposed or not. We only suspect." 

"How?" 

"One of the men in Jim's basic training unit has heightened senses, and now he's dying. He's the one who told us of the testing, and what drug . . . hormone, he was exposed to." 

"And how does he know?" 

"Apparently, these guys have an underground network which shares information." 

"Oh." Ian looked at his shaking hands for a while, then asked, "So what do you want me to do?" 

"We need to find out if Jim was ever used as a test subject." 

"How do you expect me to know this?" 

"I . . . we . . . were hoping you still had access to the patients' files, or knew someone who had access. Maybe you could call and--" 

"Blair, do you have any bloody idea what you're asking me?" 

"Some." 

"That was the darkest moment of my life. I . . . I'm still haunted by it." 

"I know that, Ian. I know. I wouldn't ask this of you if it wasn't important." 

"Let me . . . let me think about it." 

Blair reached across the desk to hold his hand. "Thank you, Ian. Thank you." And Jim, who had remained quiet for so long, just watched them. 

* * *

It took two days for Ian to build up the courage to call Dr. John Ghilloni, one of his colleagues who still lived in Virginia near the testing area. This was a long shot, he knew. He wasn't sure if John was still a part of the project or not, but he figured it was a good gamble if he was still living in the same small city in Virginia. 

"Dr. Ghilloni," he answered. 

"John? It's Ian. Ian Yoshito." 

John was very quiet. "Ian?" 

"Yes. How are you?" 

"I'm still in hell. How do you think I am? Where are you calling from?" 

"Cascade, in Washington state." 

"Washington state? Damn, how long has it been?" 

"Almost two years. I didn't know if you were still with the project or not. Or if the project was still going." 

"We're still working on it. Why? You don't want to come back, do you?" 

Ian shuddered at the thought. "No." 

"Good." John took a deep breath. "So why did you call?" 

"I need some help. I think I have one of our patients here." 

"How do you know?" 

"He's an Army Ranger, and I've been treating him for hypersensitivity. And now he's showing signs of cancer," he lied. 

"Oh." 

"I just wanted to see if you still had access to the patients' files. I just want to know if my patient was exposed, and to what, for how long." 

"I don't know if I should do that. This information is classified." 

"I know, John, I know. But if I knew what I was dealing with, I could prescribe the proper treatment . . . if any." While listening to the silence, Ian finally added, "It's a chance for me, John, to do something good for someone who didn't ask for this disease." 

"All right, Ian, all right. I'll see what I can do. What's the patient's name and numbers." 

* * *

Neither Jim nor Blair said much during the ride home after a long day at the station, and as they sat at the stoplight, Blair's eyes caught sight of their favorite video rental store. "Hey, Jim, let's rent a movie." 

"A movie?" 

"Yeah. We need something to keep our minds occupied while we wait for Ian to call. Come on, what do you say?" 

Jim thought for a moment. The last thing he wanted to do tonight was to be with someone. All of his instincts urged him to seek solitude. But deep down, he knew that was more habit than instinct. /I can't push Blair away now. If I push him away, I'm just handing him over to Ian./ "Sure, Chief." 

Strolling through the aisles, Jim only paid half-attention to Blair and his suggestions. "Just get me something that blows up," Jim said. At the check-out counter, he picked up Blair's choice. "Priscilla,_Queen_of_the_Desert? Chief, I said something that blows up." 

"We need something stupid and silly." 

"Well, it is that." 

Back at the loft, as Jim zapped the popcorn in the microwave and pulled out two beers, he started thinking about the movie. "Hey, Chief?" 

"Yeah?" 

"This movie takes place in Australia, doesn't it." He walked into the living room and set the beer and popcorn down. 

"So." 

"It's not going to bother you, is it? You know, Jack being from . . ." 

Blair looked up, then smiled. "Thanks, Jim. Thanks for thinking of me." 

The sounds of their rich Australian accents did remind Blair of Jack, and he spent much of the movie sitting on the edge of the sofa with his elbows propped on his knees. Jim took that as an opportunity to stroke his back and keep him calm. 

The scene came when Bernice and the boys sat alone, stranded in the Australian desert, eating breakfast. For Bernice, breakfast meant a cereal bowl full of unnamed pills. "Look, Chief," Jim pointed to the television. "It's your breakfast." 

"Hey," Blair replied, "I'm not that bad." 

"Yeah, right." 

"I take valerian and kava root to keep me from getting too nervous." 

"It doesn't help." 

"I take echinacea to boost my immune system. I take golden seal to keep my system clean of impurities. And vitamin E and selenium as anti-oxidants. And vitamin C and garlic and gingkoba . . . What? What are you laughing at?" 

"I rest my case." 

"Rude!" 

"Rude, huh?" Jim reached over to tickle Blair's side. Blair jerked suddenly. 

"Don't, man." 

"What? Don't tickle you?" Jim began tickling him in earnest. 

"Stop it, Jim," his voice was giving way to reluctant giggles. "Jim, I mean it." But his pleas only egged Jim on as his fingers scrambled across Blair's ribs. /Fine. I'll go on the offensive./ Blair twisted with his usual agility until he straddled Jim's waist and his own fingers sought out Jim's sensitive places. He heard a soft rumbling laugh and thought he had hit pay dirt. 

But Jim only grinned as he pulled his hands and arms behind his head, exposing his muscled chest. "Go for it, Chief," Jim taunted. "I'm not ticklish." 

"You gotta be." Blair searched, unable to break Jim's stony smile. But then he noticed Jim, noticed that wide chest arrowing down to narrow hips. And he remembered their one night together, and how much pleasure this man could give him. His hands grew calm in their searching, until finally Blair was lost in the sense of it, the sensation of his open hands drawing slowly across Jim's chest and stomach, feeling the ripples and waves of his pectorals and abs, and the tight, hard nubs of his nipples. 

Jim was just as lost in Blair's peaceful and serene expression. Blair's blue eyes suddenly made contact with Jim's, and they both smiled. Jim pulled his arms from behind his head and wrapped them around Blair, pulling him close for a chaste kiss. It had been so long since they had last kissed each other, and this soft, dry-lipped kiss made them both sigh with relief. Jim pulled him closer, dragging him down to the sofa so that Blair's back lay on the cushions, then covering him with his weight. Their second kiss was deeper and stronger, until Jim felt Blair's muscles grow tense. He pulled his lips away. 

"Jim, I--" 

Jim pressed his fingertips against Blair's lips to silence him. "Shhh." Once Blair was quiet, Jim said, "If we had sex right now, you'd feel like shit afterwards, wouldn't you?" 

Blair nodded. 

"Blair, I will never make you feel like shit. Ever. You made a promise to me that you wouldn't have sex with either me or Ian until you decided which of us you wanted. It's been tough, but I respect that. So I'm not going to have sex with you tonight." Jim stared into Blair's eyes with a gentle smile. "But I am going to hold you. And I am going to kiss you. . . . because I'm in love with you. And I miss you. I miss . . . having you . . . and when I go to sleep, I miss you being there." 

Blair's eyes started to fill. 

"Don't get upset, Blair--" 

"I'm not upset--" 

Jim smiled at his lie. "Do you want me to stop?" 

Blair stared into his bright blue eyes for a moment, then smiled back before answering. "No." Then, "Hold me." 

* * *

When the phone rang, Ian didn't think much about who would be on the other line. Casually, he answered, "This is Dr. Yoshito." 

"Dr. Ian Yoshito?" the voice on the other line said in a cold, almost metallic manner. 

The muscles in Ian's arm began to quiver as he held his breath. This was a voice he was all too familiar with -- it was a voice from his nightmares. "Dr. Cole," he whispered. Dr. Howard Cole, head of Project 57, the project that had followed Ian for these past two years. 

"So pleased you remembered my voice," Dr. Cole said. "Imagine my surprise to hear your name being spoken of again in this hospital." 

Ian's stomach muscles cramped, and he knew he needed to throw up. 

"Now, tell me, Dr. Yoshito. What would make you convince one of your fellow doctors to commit treason?" 

Now Ian was shaking. 

"My, you are so quiet and reserved, Dr. Yoshito. But I need for you to be a little more vocal. Vocal enough to explain to me what's going on, or I _will_ have you both arrested for treason. Explain it to me. Why would you want to commit such a crime?" 

Ian suddenly found his voice. "I believe I have one of your lab rats, Dr. Cole. I only want verification of that, that he was experimented on. If he wasn't, then I'll take more invasive treatments to save his life. If he was, then I'll tell him he has two years left to live and for him to do just that . . . live. I mean no treason. I mean no harm. I'm through with doing harm. Have you, Dr. Cole? Have you finished doing harm?" 

But Ian could tell the doctor on the other line was smiling, even if he couldn't see him. "Ian, Ian, Ian, I won't have an ethical debate with you. But if you wanted to know if a soldier was a patient here, why, I can answer that for you." Ian could hear him flipping through pages. "Capt. James Ellison, US Army Rangers. He was indeed treated here, for six weeks, after an extended stay in Peru." 

"What was he exposed to?" 

Dr. Cole laughed. "Now, Ian, you know I can't tell you that. Why, even when you had clearance, you wouldn't have had access to that information." 

"Then just tell me, was he exposed to 525?" 

After a moment of silence, Dr. Cole answered, "Yes." 

"And 1294, Excelsis 17, and Compound 89?" 

"There is no record of that. He must not have done well on the 525 or we would have extended his stay." 

Ian couldn't tell if his former boss was lying or not, but he only wanted to end the conversation. "That is what I needed to know." 

"So what are you going to do for Mr. James Ellison?" 

"I'm going to tell him to live the best two years of his life, because the rest have been taken away from him." 

"He was a soldier, Dr. Yoshito. He swore an oath to give his life for his country." 

"By fighting the enemy, Dr. Cole." 

"He fought the enemy, Dr. Yoshito, and we won. Now, I've had about enough of your self-righteousness. Take this as a warning. Do not interfere again." Then the line went dead. 

Ian let the phone drop from his hands, only to realize that he was beginning to hyperventilate. When he stood up, his vision darkened around the edges, and his stomach churned. Clamping his hand over his mouth, Ian rushed to the bathroom. 

* * *

Across the street from the police station, a stranger stood, holding a small black device in his hands. He watched for his subject to leave the building, and when he saw him, followed by a younger man with long, curly brown hair, he pressed a button on the device. 

At the station, Jim tried to ignore Blair's latest lecture on tribal mythology. Instead, he was scanning the crowd with his sight and hearing, when he paused on something. 

"Jim? Jim, you okay?" Blair started to recognize the zone, and he placed his hand on Jim's arm and whispered, "Come back to me, Jim. Come back." 

Jim patted his hand to tell him he wasn't zoning as he tried to focus on a light, high-pitched sound. When Jim finally faced the stranger, the man switched off the device and slipped away. 

"What? What is it?" 

"Nothing. Just thought I heard something." 

* * *

Back at the loft, Blair read a book while Jim flipped through channels on the television. Neither men paid much attention to what they saw. It had been a rough day overall for both men, and they had left the station early. Most of Blair's morning had been spent listening to freshmen complain about their grades on a test he had given every year before that had never been a problem. Then, when he got to the station, Simon had been in a bad mood. 

The phone rang, and Blair said, "You get it." 

"You get it, Chief. I don't want to talk to anybody." 

"I don't either." 

"Fine," Jim said, "let the answering machine get it." 

After Jim's voice rattled off their phone number and request for message, Ian's voice started, "Jim? Blair? Are you guys home?" 

"See, Chief, I told you it was for you." 

"Jim, I have the info you were wanting." 

Both men reached for the phone, but Jim caught it first. "Ian? Hold on, let me cut off the machine. . . . Yeah, what'd you find? . . . Oh . . . No, you can tell me over the phone . . . So what do I do? . . . oh . . . okay . . . I'll wait to hear back from you . . . Thanks, Ian. I really do appreciate this." Jim held the phone in his lap for a moment, staring into space. 

"Well? What is it?" 

Jim jumped up from the sofa and hurried to the balcony. Blair followed after him just as quickly to find Jim holding on to the rail, trying to catch his breath. "Jim? Please, you're really scaring me." 

"He found it, Blair." 

"What did he find?" 

"He found my files. And Tom was right. They did expose me to the drug." 

Blair closed his eyes, letting his head lean against the window. "Shit." When he felt calm enough to ask, he added, "What are you going to do?" 

"Ian said he was going to contact my insurance company to get approval for an MRI scan. Once that's done, he's going to set me up for an appointment to have it done." 

Blair came forward and wrapped his arms around Jim's waist. "Jim, I'm sorry." 

"I know, babe. I know." 

The phone rang again. Blair asked, "Do you want me to get it?" 

"I guess." 

Blair stepped back into the loft. "Hello?" 

"Jim Ellison?" 

"No, hold on." As he returned to Jim's side, he said, "Can I ask who's calling?" 

"Tell him it's Father Andrew." 

Blair stood motionless, just outside the door to the loft. Jim recognized his heart beat accelerate. "Blair? Blair, what is it?" Blair swallowed; he handed the phone to Jim. "This is Ellison," he said. Then his mouth dropped. "I'll be right there." 

* * *

When they rushed into Tom's cell, Jim felt himself go numb all over at the sight of his first lover, lying on his side with his knees slightly bent toward his chest. His breathing was labored and his skin seemed a pale gray. Jim immediately fell to his knees and grabbed at Tom's hands. Tom jerked, then looked over at Jim with a hazy expression. "Jim?" 

"Tom? Tom, are you all right?" 

Tom just smiled weakly. He pulled his hand free to run his fingers through Jim's hair. "Jim? You came back?" 

Jim leaned in close to kiss his forehead. "Don't go, Tom." 

"I have to." He looked around the room. "Is Blair here?" 

"Yes." 

"Let me speak to him first. Blair?" 

Blair knelt beside the bed. "I'm here." 

"Exchange of favors." 

"A what?" 

"Promise me this. That you'll watch over Jim." 

"I promise." 

"And that you'll try to to help him find himself -- to be the man I once knew." 

"I'll try." 

Tom smiled. "It won't be easy. Get him to garden, first. If you can't do it, I won't be upset. What I really want you to do is to take my memories of Jim as a sensitive, creative person, and keep those memories alive. I want someone on this earth who remembers that. It means a lot to me. Will you do it?" 

"Yes," Blair smiled, "I promise." 

"Thank you." Tom took a deep breath and squeezed his face tight to fight the pain in his head. When it passed, he said, "In return, Blair, I'll take a message." 

"A what?" 

"What was Jack's last name?" 

"McClairy. W-why?" 

"McClairy. McClairy. McClairy," Tom repeated to himself. "Okay, in a few minutes, when I pass over, I'll search for him, Blair. I'll try to find him. What message do you want me to take?" 

Blair's expression on his face was one of being slapped while his throat tightened at the thought. /What do I say?/ "Tell him," Blair started before his voice faltered. "Tell him I love him." 

"And?" 

"And that I miss him?" 

"And?" 

"That I'm okay." 

"And?" 

Blair choked as he said in a rush, "And if there is any way to come back, if only for a little while, to please, please, try and come back to me. It's important that I . . . talk to him." His eyes grew wet, and Blair suddenly stepped back from the bed, covering his face and stumbling. 

"I will, Blair," Tom said, though he didn't know Blair had pulled away. "I promise." 

Then he turned to Jim, who had been holding his hand the entire time. Jim kissed Tom's knuckles. "Thank you for coming back," Tom said. 

"The . . . Father Andrew called us." 

"No, I mean, last year, when you came back to me. Thank you. I thought you were dead. I needed you to know that I love you, and that I don't hate you for what you did all those years ago." 

"I never stopped loving you. I just got scared." 

"I know. And now you love Blair, don't you?" 

"Yes." 

"Promise me something. That you'll never get scared by the things you love again. Promise me, that when Blair is not at your side, you will think back on this. Ask yourself when Blair is not with you, if it is because you are scared. Then ask yourself what it is that's scaring you. Because when you name it, the fear, it's suddenly not as frightening as it seems." 

"I promise." 

Tom pinched his eyes again. "Jim?" 

"Yes, Tom." 

"A few days ago, I . . . I lost my gift." Jim squeezed his hand in sympathy. "Will you . . . will you be my gift again?" 

Jim smiled in spite of his sorrow. "Yes." 

"Tell me what you hear." 

"I hear heartbeats. A lot of them. The brothers are all concerned, and they are standing near. Several of them are praying. They are saying Hail Mary's. No, wait, they just started an Our Father. They must be saying the rosary. And I hear birds singing." Jim looked up, through the small window. "It's a beautiful day outside. The sun is setting. The sky is clear, and it's the darkest color blue. I can see Rainier. The snow on the mountain is pink and orange. And there are flowers blooming. Yellow ones, mixed with purple. A bumblebee is trying to land on them, but they keep tipping over on him. And I can smell fresh bread. It has rosemary in it." 

Jim stopped. He could hear Tom's heartbeats beginning to falter. 

"Jim?" 

"Yes." Jim's throat tightened. 

"It's getting so dark." 

Jim took a deep breath, and he leaned in close. "No, it's not dark, Tom. It's morning. We are back in boot camp. Remember the day? We were given a weekend pass, and when everyone went into town, you and I went camping. We borrowed a tent and some blankets, and we slept in each others arms." Tom smiled weakly at the memory. His heartbeat grew weaker. "The sun begins to rise above the mountains. We are down south, near North Carolina, and the mountains are round. The sky turns pink and purple and orange, and the few clouds are dark at first, then blue, then white. The wind is cold, and we hold each other. I'm . . . behind you. I can feel your heart beating strong against my chest, and my arm pulls you tight. I never want this morning to end. I want it to go on . . . forever and ever and ever." 

"Jim?" 

"Yes?" 

"I love you." 

Jim leaned down as his heart beat came to a final pulse, and kissed him gently on the lips, feeling his last, weak exhalation pass through him. Pulling back, tears started to fall down Jim's cheeks, but he didn't sob or cry. Gently, he petted Tom's arm, unable to let go of his hand. His throat was so tight and painful that he could barely breathe. 

* * *

Concluded in part three.


	3. Chapter 3

Due to length, this story has been split into three parts.

## Loving You Less Than Life III

By Kadru

Author's homepage: <http://www.mindspring.com/~kadru/index.html>

Disclaimer and notes can be found in part one. 

* * *

Loving You Less Than Life III -- part three  
By Kadru 

Blair felt so numb by the time he got Jim home. The sentinel didn't say a word in the truck on the way back. With coaxing, Blair was able to get him inside the loft, but Jim immediately stepped outside onto the balcony to be alone. Sighing, Blair watched him go, trying to think what to do. He felt chilled, so he started building a fire. /Maybe the last one for the year./ As the fire started to catch, he drifted into the kitchen to open a can of soup for both of them. He ate the soup alone, standing in the kitchen. Finally, he decided to check on his partner. 

When he stepped onto the balcony, his heart caught in his chest. Jim wasn't there. /Oh, god, Jim, no!/ He scrambled to the railing, looking over, breathing deeply with relief when he didn't see Jim lying on the ground, but still unsure. Then he heard the sound, like a catch in someone's throat, and turning, Blair saw his friend huddled in the far corner of the balcony with his arms wrapped around his knees and his face hidden. For a few moments, Blair watched him before stepping closer, then sat close by his side, leaning his head against Jim's knees. 

Jim looked up at him. Even in the dim light coming from the street, Blair could see the crushed expression on Jim's face, the drooping eyebrows, the corners of his eyes wrinkled, his mouth tight and small. Still, his eyes were dry. 

"Jim, stop it. . . . Don't hold this all in." Blair ran his hand over Jim's short hair. "I know this is uncomfortable for you, letting yourself lose control. But you have to. Trust me on this. I've been there. I know. Holding it back only makes you feel worse. You have to let it out." Jim cast his eyes downward. "I know, man . . . when Jack died--" Jim rolled his head away from Blair and squeezed his eyes. Blair pressed his hand against Jim's cheek and continued, "When he died, you were there for me. Every day. It saved me. So, I'll be here, Jim." He put his arm around his partner. "I'll be here." 

Leaning back, Jim pulled Blair into his chest, wrapping his arms around him and pressing his knees against Blair's back, covering him completely before he pressed his face into Blair's curly hair. Blair massaged his shoulders and whispered, "Let it go, Jim. Let it go." A few seconds later, he heard the first hiccough from Jim. "That's it, baby. Don't hold it in." The short coughs grew more rapid until finally Jim threw his head back as a strained wail escaped his lips. Blair only held him tighter as he felt his sentinel crack and crumble in his arms. 

Jim sobbed for so long, squeezing Blair into his chest as he rocked back and forth. 

* * *

Eventually, the cold air caused Blair to shiver in Jim's arms. He had ceased crying a while ago, and Blair hadn't wanted to disturb his peace. But when Jim felt his partner shudder, he quickly slipped into blessed protector mode, lifting him from the cold balcony and walking him into the loft. "Jim, I'm all right." Jim forced him to sit near the hearth with his back to the fire, then knelt in front of him, looking into his eyes, unable to speak. And Blair, looking down, noticed how red Jim's eyes had become, and how wet his face was, reflecting back the fire. Blair gently wiped Jim's red eyes and wet face, then whispered, "There's soup in the kitchen." 

"I --" Jim's voice broke, then he tried again, "I can't eat." 

"You have to." Jim didn't answer, and after a minute, Blair added, "This fire's too hot. I need to move. I'll get up and make us some tea." 

When Blair came back with the mugs of tea, Jim was seated on the sofa, his eyes impassively staring at the fire. Blair held out the mug, and when Jim would not take it, he set it down on the coffee table in front of him. "It gets better, Jim, I promise." 

Jim shook his head, and Blair could see his tightened face holding back his emotions. "No, it just gets worse." Blair sat down beside him and rubbed his knee, but Jim didn't seem to notice. "It feels . . . all wrong." 

"Come on, Jim. Don't keep this inside. It'll just fester and make it worse. Didn't what I just went through teach you anything?" 

"No! It's not the same!" 

Blair wasn't prepared for the strength of Jim's voice. "It's okay, Jim. I understand--" 

"No, you don't understand! What you felt was . . ." Jim squeezed his fingers into a fist, so frustrated that his skill with words was so poor. "What you felt was . . . pure." 

"Pure? Pure what?" 

"I don't know how . . ." 

"It's okay, man--" 

"No it's not okay! I can't . . . . I can't cry for him!" 

"Huh?" 

"I can't . . . don't you see? . . . . it's . . ." Jim collapsed, dropping his face into his hands before whimpering, "We were so close." 

"Oh, Jim." Blair moved closer on the sofa to rub Jim's shoulders. "I know you and Tom--" 

Jim looked up, his eyes wet and full. "Not Tom." 

Blair raised an eyebrow. 

" _We_ . . . _we_ were so close. You and . . . but I waited too long. And I can't cry for Tom, and I know I should. I can only cry for us." The tears began to fall again. "I waited too long. I'm sorry. We . . . I was so close to finally having you, Blair. I . . . I don't want to die." 

Blair gradually understood him, and his own eyes began to fill. "Jim, I--" 

"I don't want to die, Blair. I . . . . I don't want to leave you. . . . I don't want to leave you." They pulled each other close. "I almost had you, Blair. I almost had you." 

Then Blair pulled free, almost frantic. "Stop it, Jim," he said while shaking him. "Stop this. We don't know if you have cancer or not--" 

"Chief--" 

"We haven't done a CAT scan, and we still have more tests--" 

"Chief, we were in the Army together. Ian said my files were on record as being tested on. I was exposed to this. It's coming, Chief--" 

"No!" Blair shook his head fiercely. "No!" 

"It's coming, and sooner or later I'm going to get it." 

"You don't know this!" 

"I'm a sentinel, just like Tom. We were in the Army together, and we're sentinels, and we were both tested on--" 

"But you were a sentinel as a child--" 

"The Army didn't know that. And they exposed me, Chief. They exposed me." 

"Stop it, Jim!" Blair's voice had grown so angry and forceful. "Stop this shit now! I won't hear any more of it. You will be strong, damnit! Strong! Neither of us is going to quit. Do you hear me? Neither of us." 

Jim closed his eyes, and his mouth tightened. Blair recognized that stoic expression. Jim still believed it, but he wasn't saying it any more. Their silence grew too heavy. Blair had to do something, so he fetched Jim a bowl of soup. "I'm sorry, Jim. I'm sorry I yelled." Jim breathed deeply, then let his shoulders sag as he exhaled. "Here. Eat your soup." He didn't argue with his guide this time. 

Jim finished the bowl slowly, reluctantly, in silence. Blair sat some distance from him, staring forward, watching the fire lick around the wood and the embers glowing into coals. His normally hectic mind fell quiet, so quiet that he didn't even notice Jim slip closer, dropping his head into Blair's lap. Automatically, Blair's fingers slipped into Jim's brown hair, combing it softly. /What kind of anthropologist are you?/ Blair asked himself. /It's your job to know this man inside and out. Everything. So how could you be so blind to him? How could you not notice what he was feeling for you, for over a year, man, a year?!/ 

/Because I was too afraid to admit it was real./ 

Blair sighed, staring down at the man he loved. /Who would have thought that you could be so . . . brittle? . . . But why wouldn't you be? You are a sentinel, a man who feels more than any other human. Tom even said you were so sensitive before the Army broke you down, remade you into a tough shell on the outside. And I'm your guide. I'm here to protect you, to shield you, like a hand would shield a candle. All this time, I saw it the other way around, that you were protecting me. How could I get this so wrong?/ 

"Blair?" 

"Yeah?" 

"I can't . . ." 

/It's so hard for him to speak these things. God, Jim, even your silence is incredible./ 

"I can't sleep alone tonight." 

Blair almost moaned when he sighed. "You won't have to." 

"I won't do anything . . . I promise." 

"I know you won't, Jim. I know." 

* * *

Three days later, the monastery held a requiem mass for Tom. Jim and Blair were two of the few lay people present. After the service, Blair asked, "Where were Tom's parents?" 

"His father's in prison. His mother's dead. Tom grew up on his grandparent's horse ranch in Montana, and when they died, he joined the Army." 

"Oh." 

As they drove home, Jim finally said, "Blair, I have to tell you something." 

"What?" 

"Ian called me yesterday. He convinced my insurance company to cover an MRI scan." 

"That's good, I guess." 

"But I still have to pay a deductible." 

"Oh . . . is it a lot?" 

"It's going to eat up all the money we set aside for the hot water heater." 

"Jim, you know I don't care about that. I mean, it would have been great and all, but you know I think this is more important." 

"I just didn't want you to be disappointed because I couldn't come through with it." 

"Hey, Jim, if I had to chose cold showers for the rest of my life over losing you, I'd do it in a heartbeat." Then he smiled, trying to cheer Jim up. "We can get it on our next go around." 

* * *

When Saturday came, Blair felt at odds with himself. After lunch, he found himself searching the loft for his backpack and notebooks. Standing at the table, stuffing his notebook inside the bag, he stopped, then let his shoulders sag with a huff. Jim was standing behind him when he noticed what he was doing. He placed his hand on Blair's shoulder. Before, it would have just been to pat him a few times, but now he felt comfortable enough to let it linger. 

Blair flung the backpack off the table and threw up his hands. "Damnit!" He rested his hands on his hips and looked down, shaking his head. "This isn't fair! How can those bastards get away with this?" 

Jim only squeezed his shoulder. 

"And how can you be so calm?" 

"I'm not calm, Chief. I'm just not mad yet." 

Blair stared at him, waiting. 

"It's just . . . I'm so distracted by what's happening to me that I can't really focus on Tom right now. And I know that's selfish but I can't help it." 

"Jim, they did this to you, too. Can't you get mad at that?" 

"Maybe. Maybe when I have time for it." 

Blair shook his head again. "I need some air. I need to get out for a while." He crossed the room and grabbed his jacket off the coat rack. 

"Will you be back tonight?" 

"Tonight?" 

"Yeah. I thought we'd go out." 

"You really want to do that?" 

"I almost feel like we have to." 

"Jim, we don't have to do anything. Not this week." 

"Maybe we do _because_ of this week." 

Blair gave Jim a tight, closed-mouth smile. "Sure thing, big guy. I'm down with that." 

After Blair had left, Jim stood in the same spot, near the table, for several minutes. He wanted the normality of taking Blair out, but he honestly didn't feel like doing anything at all. Lately, since Tom's death, his mind just hadn't been functioning at all. He constantly found himself walking into a room and forgetting why he had gone there in the first place. And as for what to do tonight, he had no real plans. He just knew he had to do something. 

* * *

Blair came back a few hours later -- enough time for him to shower, shave and dress. Jim went through the same motions, yet Blair could tell his heart wasn't in it. Blair stepped into the bathroom and saw Jim standing at the sink, towel wrapped around his waist, with one side of his face covered in shaving cream and the other clean. He was motionless, staring into the mirror with his hand holding his razor. Thinking it was a zone, Blair touched Jim's wrist. "You okay?" 

Jim jerked slightly, then rinsed his razor in the sink. "Yeah. I'm okay." 

"Look, we don't have to do this tonight if you don't want to." 

"No," he sighed. "We need to." 

"Don't make this into a chore or anything." 

Immediately, Jim shot Blair a hurt, confused look. "No, I don't want you to think that, Chief. It's not like that." 

Blair read the body language quickly. He knew then that Jim really was forcing himself to take Blair out tonight, even though his first lover had just died in his arms at the beginning of the week, and even though the specter of cancer hung over him. All because Blair had placed him in such an awkward situation, because he couldn't decide what man would be best in his life, because he had let, even encouraged, these men to compete openly against each other for him. And now, the one person Jim had in his life to go to for help with his pain, Jim had to continue to "romance" or else lose his chance forever. Slipping away to slump onto the sofa, Blair knew this night would be a misery for them both. 

* * *

After climbing into the truck, Blair asked, "So, where are we going?" 

"You'll see," Jim answered softly. 

They pulled out of the parking space and drove for a few minutes, passing by several restaurants that Blair knew he liked. Neither of them really spoke to each other. Ten minutes later, Blair asked, "Do you even know where you're going?" 

"Yes, I know where I'm going," Jim snapped. "Can't a guy at least build up some suspense?" 

"Sorry I asked." 

Another ten minutes later, in a residential neighborhood, Jim hit the brakes quickly, pulling the truck to the curb before dropping his head down on the steering wheel. 

Blair sighed heavily and looked down at his feet. "You don't know where you want to take me," he said -- not a question, just a sad statement of fact. 

"No," Jim whispered. "I thought if I drove by some places, an idea would come to me." 

"Jim, we don't have to do this tonight." 

"But if I don't . . ." He couldn't finish his sentence. 

"Jim, for the past month, you and Ian have been taking _me_ places, doing things for _me_. But tonight, there's only one thing I want." Jim looked up at him with tired, dark eyes. Blair said, "Please let me take care of you." 

Jim didn't say anything. 

"Tomorrow, you have your MRI scan. We're both upset and tired. Let me take you home. I'll fix us something for dinner. We can just put on a CD, open up the windows and listen to the rain. I can rub your shoulders. That . . . that's what I want to do tonight. . . . . Will you let me?" 

* * *

Ian followed Jim into the MRI scanning room. A thin bed waited for him, and Jim stared forward at the modernistic circle in the wall. His thoughts were too disjointed, and he ignored most of Ian's professional small-talk. Earlier, Ian had warned him that they may not find anything on the scan. He had explained that GATC 525 wasn't carcinogenic in itself, but that it caused the pituitary gland to produce hormones which the body wasn't accustomed to. These hormones in turn overworked the nervous system, resulting in cancerous tumors that soon spread. The previous bloodwork hadn't detected any signs of tumors, and Ian didn't really expect to see anything. Even so, both men knew that this MRI scan would do more for Blair than for either of them. 

An attendant approached and assisted Jim onto the bed. "Now, hold your hands down at your side. Good. And hold this." He handed Jim a small button. "This is your panic button. If you start to feel claustrophobic, press this button and it will stop the procedure and let you out." 

"Claustrophobic?" 

"Yes. And don't move around much. When you lie flat on the bed, you can't feel the plastic shield which we'll place over you, but if you move, then you might feel the top of it and realize how closed in you are. . . . Do you have a favorite radio station?" 

"Why?" 

"If you'd like to listen to music to keep your mind occupied, we can give you earphones for that. And here, put on this blindfold." 

The attendant wasn't exaggerating. As he pulled down the plastic cover, Jim felt it lightly touch his nose. Even behind a blindfold, he closed his eyes to keep from thinking about it. Instead, he tried to focus on the one decision he knew he had to make, and soon. If he did have cancer, he couldn't drag Blair into it. /It's not fair to him. Not after Jack. I can't make him lose two lovers. And not when he could be with Ian instead./ Yet as he said this, his heart felt heavy. /But I need him. I need him to get through this. I don't want to die alone./ 

In the technician's room, Ian watched from behind the wall of glass. He wasn't so sure what to do next. /There will be no tumors. . . Although, they could be small, maybe. Too small to affect his blood. And then what? I can't operate on them./ Ian let his mind drift for a while when he heard the technician behind him. 

"Ah, poor guy." 

Ian jerked around. "What?" 

The technician looked up at him. "When it comes to guys like that, I sure wouldn't want your job." When Ian walked around to the viewing screen, the technician pointed out, "There they are." 

* * *

When it was over, Blair was waiting for them outside. He expected to see both Jim and Ian, but only Jim stepped out of the room. "Hey. How'd it go?" 

"I don't know. Ian said to come back at 2." 

"Why so long?" 

"Didn't say." Jim rubbed his temples. He had hoped Ian would have been standing over him when they opened up the plastic guard to free him, there to say, "You have nothing to worry about." But that didn't happen. "I guess he has to do something to the scan first," Jim said to Blair. 

"Can you eat something?" 

"I guess. Long as it isn't hospital cafeteria food." 

"Good," Blair smiled, trying to cheer them both up. "Let's go grab something and eat out by the waterfront." 

"Sounds good to me, Chief." Jim placed his hand on the small of Blair's back, guiding him toward the door, and Blair relaxed into his hand, enjoying the physical contact. 

* * *

During lunch, the only person in the MRI scan room was the technician. Ian pulled on his surgical gloves as he slipped in, closing the door after himself. "Excuse me," he said to the technician, "I'm having a little trouble with my viewing screen. Could you do me a favour and pull up Mr Ellison's files on this one, please." 

"Sure. Hold on a sec." The technician turned to type at the keyboard. 

He didn't notice Ian pull a vial from his lab coat pocket and dip his finger into it. Ian came forward, waited for the technician to pull up Jim's files, then with a quick movement, he drew his finger across the back of the technician's neck. The effect was instantaneous. Suddenly his back stiffened and his muscles quivered before he slumped forward. Ian caught him by the shoulder and gently set his head down on the desk. Looking into the scanning room to make sure no one else was there while he snapped off his gloves, he hurriedly accessed the files. Only the technicians had security clearance to make changes to the MRI scans. Working fast, Ian started shuffling and renaming files. 

Once done, he reached into his pocket for a vial of smelling salts. He held it under the technician's nose to rouse him. "Are you all right?" he asked, patting the technician's cheeks. "You just fainted on me." 

* * *

Blair and Jim waited in the consultation room for Ian to appear. But when he walked in, both Jim and Blair noticed a saddened look on his face. He didn't say much to them as he turned on the large display monitor hanging on the wall. He loaded his access codes and pulled up the electronic image. Jim watched as square after square appeared on the long, rectangular board. It nauseated him a little to see his head so dissected -- the perfect orbs of his eyes, the spongy centers of bone, and the curves and valleys of his brain -- all sliced as if with knives. After the third image appeared, Jim leaned forward, squinting his eyes. He wasn't too confident of his knowledge of biology, but something didn't look right. 

"Do you see it?" Ian asked in a soft voice. When no one answered, he pointed at the two almond-shaped bodies near the center of Jim's brain, directly behind his eyes. 

Blair felt hot all over, a stinging heat that made him sweat. His mind wouldn't work, wouldn't grasp the thoughts that spun out of control. He had tried so hard to deny this, tried to so hard to find every logical reason why Jim couldn't possibly have cancer. But now, now it was staring at him like two hard, impervious rocks. Blair tried to breathe, but he couldn't catch his breath, and his vision started to blur. 

* * *

"Blair?" 

Blair felt Jim's hands shaking him hard. 

"Blair, snap out of it. Don't panic on me, baby. Come on. Please. I need you to be strong, baby. I need you." 

Blair took a deep breath and grabbed Jim's forearm. "I'm okay. I'm okay." 

"You sure?" 

"No. Are you?" 

Jim squeezed him in a tight hug. "I will be. Don't worry about me, babe. I can handle this, okay?" 

"Okay." 

Ian stepped forward. "Blair, Jim, I want you to take a closer look at this." Ian pointed to the scan again. "These growths -- they are far too symmetrical to be tumors. And here." He pointed to another slide. "Here you can see that they appear to be hollow. . . . And here, this looks like it's a duct of some kind." 

"What?" Blair moved closer. "What are you saying?" 

"I won't know for sure unless I operated, which is something I won't do, but my guess is that these are natural." 

"Natural?" 

"Blair, you always said that a sentinel was a genetic throwback. There's your proof. Jim appears to have glands which produce the same hormones which our government has been trying to get test subjects to make in their pituitary glands. That's a rough guess, mind you, based on Jim's heightened senses and the fact that he could sense things as a child. And even if you were exposed to 525, Jim, you were exposed to that before Tom Poulsen was, and you don't show any signs of cancer at all. What bothers me, though, is that I was told you were only exposed to 525. We used a cocktail of drugs to make men hypersensitive. In fact, it was mentioned that you must not have done well on 525." 

"When I got back from Peru, I repressed my skills, tried to shut down." 

"Oh." Ian looked at the screen. "Or maybe your body reacted against the treatment, shutting it down naturally. It would explain why the project stopped at just 525." 

"So what does this mean?" Blair asked. "Does Jim have cancer?" 

"No. Jim doesn't have cancer." 

Blair stared at his partner, trying to fathom what was happening. /Jim is alive. Jim is okay. Jim is not going to die. He's going to live./ He looked into Jim's blue eyes as his breathing grew rapid with excitement and understanding. Jim flashed him a soft, subtle, closed-mouth smile which triggered Blair, and he rushed at him, wrapping his arms around him and pressing tight. Blair held onto Jim's face, pulling him into a kiss, which Jim returned fully, ardently, drawing him as close as he could, squeezing muscle and skin. 

Ian stood beside them, formal and composed but shocked and hurting inside. He hadn't expected Blair and Jim to act so passionately, especially not in front of him. And seeing them so oblivious to him, kissing, running fingers through hair and gripping flesh, his mouth started to fall open as his body expressed the pain that his mind wanted to keep reserved. 

Jim finally pushed Blair away, still smiling as their foreheads touched. Then Jim's hearing picked up on a second heartbeat pounding, and he saw Ian staring forward with his mouth open. "Oh, Ian, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to . . ." 

"Yes, well." Ian flushed with embarrassment and turned around. 

When he did, Jim looked back at the scan which had cleared him. He looked closely, and with his sentinel eyes, he spotted the name in the corner of each image. 

Poulsen, Thomas R. 

"Ian?" 

"Yes, Jim?" 

"Why is Tom's name on my scan?" 

Ian turned back to face both men. His heart started racing, and Jim suspected him of lying. Ian sighed heavily, then as he answered, his heart rate fell back into the truthful range. "I saw too many men killed, every day, by this project. And I only worked for them for two years. There's no telling how many hundreds of men they've sent to their deaths. If they found out that you were a natural hypersensitive . . . I might be paranoid, but I'm bloody certain they would try to take you back. Today, at lunch, I switched the files. Tom Poulsen's scan now has your name on it, in case anyone finds out." 

"Is that legal?" 

"No. But I don't trust these men, Jim." He looked over at Blair. "The next question is -- Blair, what are you going to do?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"Here's proof that Jim is a natural hypersensitive. Are you going to continue with your dissertation, even if it endangers Jim?" 

"I . . . I hadn't thought about it." 

"This might put Jim in a lot of danger." 

Blair looked back at the projection screen, at the two almond shapes in Jim's head. There it was, the greatest discovery in his academic career, the single piece of evidence that validated every claim he had ever made about the existence of sentinels. He looked over at Jim; he was also staring at the shapes. "Thanks, Ian. Thanks for the warning." 

* * *

Stretching languorously on his blanket, Blair recognized the vivid blue sky and the teal ocean, could hear the tropical breezes rustling through the thick-leaved trees behind him. He had been here before, he remembered in this dream. He had been on this beach between his freshman and sophomore years in college, when he had spent the summer with his mother in Costa Rica. This beach was only a few miles from the village they were living in, and Blair had come out here frequently to swim. He sat up on his elbows to watch the ocean waves pulsing in a soft, heartbeat-like fashion. The entire scene made him smile; it was one of his most favorite memories. 

Then, in the distance, he saw a swimmer coming forward, reaching the shore and rising from the water. Blair's smile turned into a grin. 

Jack. 

He sauntered across the sand, his own roguish grin wide across his face. Water dripped from his skin. "Hello, love." 

"Jack." 

"I've missed you." 

"You like have no idea." 

"I have some idea, love." He sat down on the blanket beside Blair. "Whoa, mate," he exclaimed, drawing back from the blanket as if burned. "What is this stuff? Wool?" 

Blair laughed. "Yeah. My mom made me take it so I wouldn't get so comfortable that I'd fall asleep and get sunburned." 

Jack settled back down on the blanket, then looked over at his former lover. "Blair, love, were you ever this young?" 

Blair looked down at his body. "I was 19, I think." 

"No nipple ring, I see," Jack said as he reached out to rub Blair's chest. Then he looked into Blair's eyes. "I got your message." Blair sat up and kissed him, gently. "I've . . . kept myself away from you, on purpose. That last time, when you had the nightmare about getting stuck in the lift. After that, I felt like I shouldn't bother you." 

"I'm sorry," Blair's said, remembering the dream he had had a few months after Jack had died. "I didn't do it on purpose." 

"I know. The subconscious is a weird place. But I didn't want you to think that I wasn't around. I am, love. I am. I've never left your side." When he saw Blair's face melt into a sweet expression, he added, "Now, uh, this time we won't be seeing some tsunami or something, will we? No monsters coming out of the jungle or anything?" 

"If they do, I'll ignore it." 

"Good. Things . . . . aren't quite what I expected them to be." 

"How do you mean?" 

"Well, for one, I sure as hell didn't think there'd be an afterlife. That's for sure. And it's not at all like the books say it is. More like a waiting room, really." He smiled at Blair. "We all get to come back, love. Again and again and again." 

Blair thought for a second. "But it's been over a year. Why are you still . . . waiting?" 

"Waiting on you," he said, drawing circles on Blair's chest and stomach with his finger. 

"Me?" 

"Yeah. No sense being reborn when you'll be an old man when I find you." 

Blair didn't say anything. He could only smile. 

"So, I haven't left you. I know you think that sometimes. But I'm here." 

"Thank you. It does help." 

"So, this monk guy. He sure didn't spend much time with us. Kept saying he wanted to get back to his garden. He said you had something you wanted to talk to me about." 

Blair looked away, but Jack pulled him back with his finger hooked around his chin. "Don't break the connection, love." 

"Sorry. I . . . I need to talk to you . . . about . . ." 

"About Jim?" 

"Yes. Jack, I . . ." 

"I know. You love him." When Blair tried to look away again, he added, "Blair, let me just say that I like Jim. I've liked him since I first met him, and after what happened to me, I . . . I like him even more. He makes me feel so . . . secure about you. The way he always guards you. I mean, he can be over-protective to a fault, but at least I know you'll never be hurt. And he does love you. Deeply." He ran his hands through Blair's hair. "And another thing. Regardless of what they all say, this after death part isn't important in the least. It's the living part. That's what's important. Don't put off living because of me. You have to keep living. You have to fall in love again. And I want it to be Jim, okay?" 

"Thank you." 

"You never told me Jim was a sentinel." 

"We haven't told a lot of people." 

"I can understand. But I've known other sentinels, in some of the tribes I've studied. There's a lot of spiritual stuff that goes along with it. Now, all my days in watching these people and their religious rituals, I only saw it from a scientist's perspective. But there's a lot of stuff behind it that I still don't understand. From what I've seen, guides are born, just like sentinels. It has something to do with the voice. And you seek each other out. Part of the reason you and Jim are attracted to each other has to do with this connection. You'll be able to love others, but they will always take second place to your sentinel. The same goes for him." 

"Thank you, Jack. I needed to hear this, from you." 

"I know, love. It's the only reason I came back." Then he smiled. "Leave it to the Greeks to show us how to come back in dreams." 

"Patroclus to Achilles, huh?" 

Jack kissed him on the forehead. "Precisely. Now, I need to get back. I promised myself I wouldn't interfere with your life. But I wanted you to know that I approve of Jim -- no, that I _need_ you to be with Jim. He will keep you safe, and I can relax then. And I want you to know that I'm always here, with you, even though you don't see me." 

"I love you, Jack." 

"I love you, too." Then he bent down, pressing his mouth down hard on Blair's to give him one last passionate kiss that jerked Blair awake with a shock. He opened his eyes to his dark room on a cold, wet May night in Cascade. A few moments later, he heard the soft padding of Jim's bare feet on the hardwood floors. 

Jim leaned into Blair's open doorway. "You okay, Chief?" 

"Yeah," he forced back a laugh, and when he did, he pushed out tears that were waiting in his eyes, tears he hadn't realized were there. "I'm okay, big guy." 

"I heard you mumbling in your sleep," he said as he came into Blair's bedroom, sitting down beside him. "And your heartbeat was getting too fast." He saw Blair's cheeks glisten in the dark. "You're crying." 

"I'm okay," he said as he lay back down. "It was just a dream." Blair closed his eyes and remembered the warm Costa Rican sun. "It was just a dream." 

* * *

The next day, Blair was lounging on the sofa, re-reading Margaret Mead's Sex_and_Temperance for the hundredth time. The atonal melodies of the Bulgarian Women's Chorus filled the loft with an exotic, primal beat. Jim hated it, and Blair could only play it when he was gone. As he turned the page, he heard a knock on the door. Blair reached for his bookmark, a note from Jim to do the laundry which he had written months ago when Blair last read this book. He opened the door. "Ian? What's up?" 

Ian held a white alpaca wool blanket in his hands. 

"Do you want to come in?" Blair asked. 

"No. This won't take long." 

"Huh?" 

"I wanted to give you this." He handed Blair the blanket. 

"Ian, I can't take this." 

"Blair, you're never going to choose between Jim or me. You don't have it in your heart to deny either one of us. . . . But the other day, when you realized Jim didn't have cancer, and that he was going to live, your reaction was too honest for me to ignore." 

"Ian, wait a minute. Don't I get a say in this?" 

"Blair, I love you. You know that. But I can't compete with Jim. And I don't want to anymore." 

"Ian, I don't know what to say." 

"There's nothing to say, Blair. This is my decision. I'm not playing any more. I just want us to be friends." 

"But why the blanket?" 

"You and I . . . slept on this blanket, on our first night. I . . . can't look at it anymore without thinking of you." 

"I can't take it, either, Ian. I'll still think of you, too." 

"That's what I want, Blair. I want to give you something that you'll remember." He forced the blanket into Blair's hands. "Keep in touch, Blair. I want us to stay friends." He turned to leave, then stopped in the hallway after pressing the button for the elevator. "Goodbye, Blair Sandburg." 

Blair remained in a state of shock, watching the elevator door shut. 

Ian returned to his car. As he sat down in the driver's seat and closed the door, he told himself, /Ian, that was the wisest thing you have ever done./ Then he looked up at the loft's windows. /Then why does it hurt so bad?/ 

* * *

On this Friday night, Jim told Simon they needed to stop by the loft before hitting their usual bar for happy hour. He didn't tell Simon about his conversation with Blair earlier that day, at lunch, right before Blair left for the university. "Hey, Jim," Blair had asked, "are you going out with Simon tonight?" 

"Yeah, probably. I doubt we'll stay out late, though." 

"Oh." Then a few seconds later, "About what time do you think you'll be home?" 

"I don't know. Why? You wanna do something tonight?" 

"Yeah. But it can wait until you get home." As he was leaving, he had said, "Just don't stay out too late, okay?" 

Jim stood at the door to the loft, unlocking it with Simon right behind him. "Come on, Simon, this won't take long. I just want to check up on Sandburg. See if he wants to go with us." 

"Jim, buddy, is this the over-protective big brother talking?" Then he added with a sly grin, "Or the prospective boyfriend?" 

"I thought you didn't want any details." He opened the door and stepped inside. At the sight of the table, he stopped all movement and stood there with his mouth open. In a swift gestalt, he noticed the checkered tablecloth, the two empty port bottles with red candles unlit, the centerpiece of purple flowers -- irises, heather, dried lavender -- no lilac -- too late for lilac -- but there was a heady scent of lilac from the scented candles Blair had lit and placed in the far corners of the loft. A bottle of wine was open and breathing, and the strong smell of marinade filled his nose. Then he saw the glowing vision of Blair, leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed. He wore his faded jeans and his loose-fitting, blue, beige and black cotton print shirt. He smelled faintly of patchouli and mint. He grinned back at Jim, then winked. 

"Sorry, Simon," Jim said in a rush, twisting his friend and captain around and pushing him hard. "Rain check, man, I promise." 

"Whoa," Simon started to fight him, "what the hell's going on here, Jim?" 

"I'll explain later." 

"Jim, wait, what about tonight?" 

"Can't," he said, pushing him out the door. "I'll call you tomorrow." 

Simon pulled himself free and forced a peek through the doorway. He saw the table and Blair standing in the kitchen, giving him a subtle wave. 

"Simon, please," Jim pushed him out of the door. "I promise, I'll call you tomorrow." 

Before Jim could completely close the door, Simon yelled out, "Hey, Jim!" 

Jim pushed his head between the door and the door frame. "Yeah?" 

Then Simon smiled and said, "Congrats, man." 

Jim grinned back. "Thanks, Simon. That means a lot." He shut the door behind him, locked it, then turned with a rush toward Blair. 

Blair was standing in the kitchen, a warm smile on his face. Jim suddenly felt his courage escape him, and he became as nervous as a school boy. He shoved his hands into his jeans and looked down at his shoes. Casually Blair walked over towards him, his arms still crossed. "You know, you didn't have to push Simon off like that. Dinner won't be ready for a long while." 

"Oh?" 

"It will take a while for your steak to marinate." 

"Steak? You bought me a steak?" 

"A great big porterhouse steak." 

"Enough for us both?" 

"Enough for you. You know I don't like to eat red meat." 

"Unless it's tongue, right." 

"Unless it's tongue." 

"So . . . what are you eating?" 

"I'm marinating some salmon, too." 

"You'll eat some of my steak, though," Jim commanded in a teasing voice, which gave him the courage to pull his hands free from his pockets and wrap them around Blair's waist. 

"And why is that?" 

"I think it would be only fair, seeing as how I'm going to have some of your salmon, too." 

"Oh, I see. A porterhouse steak isn't enough for you, is that it?" 

Both men stood near the table with their arms around each other's waists, rocking back and forth slightly. Then Jim gathered up his courage and asked, "So, uh, Blair, uhm, what does this mean?" 

Blair grinned back at him. "What do you think it means?" 

"I know what I want it . . . what I _need_ it to mean." 

Smiling back at him, his grayish-blue eyes sparkling, Blair confessed, "And you'd be right, Jim. You'd be right." 

With a sudden flourish, Jim bent down, grabbing the backs of Blair's knees with one arm and his shoulders by another, sweeping him up into his arms then kissing him lightly on the lips. Blair wrapped one arm around Jim's neck, his hand grasping at Jim's face, returning his kiss as Jim began to carry him toward the stairs. 

"Jim . . . hey, Jim . . . careful with this alpha male stuff," Blair warned. 

"Tomorrow, Chief. Tomorrow. But tonight, I've waited way too long for tonight." He hauled Blair upstairs, and together they fell onto the bed, breaking into peals of laughter as the bedsprings jostled them around. Then Jim stopped. "Blair?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Did you leave the oven on?" 

"No." 

"Good." He pressed his mouth onto Blair's, his tongue drilling into the younger man's mouth, claiming and possessing him. "Uhm, Blair?" 

Laughing, Blair answered, "What now?" 

"The wine. Do we need to put the cork back in?" 

"I got the heartiest wine I could find to go with your steak. This stuff can breathe all night and still walk out on its own legs." 

"Good." Jim pushed him back onto the bed, covering him with his weight and kissing him again, holding Blair tightly to his chest. The growing realization that he finally held his guide close to him and that tonight he would feel him naked and pressed against his body, that he would go to sleep with his heartbeat like a lullaby, that he would wake up with him in the morning and he wouldn't run away this time, that they'd never be separated again -- these thoughts rose in power in his mind like a chorus shouting in the loud harmony of a throbbing crescendo, weighing down on his chest until finally Jim had to release Blair from his kiss to take a breath. "Blair, I can't believe this is happening. . . . You can't believe how much I've wanted this . . . I'm . . . I'm in love with you, Blair." 

Blair's face relaxed in a loving gaze. For the first time that Jim could remember, Blair was absolutely speechless. He ran his hand over Jim's short hair, then behind his ear, and finally along the bottom of his jaw to trace Jim's lips with his fingertips. 

"Blair? Is something wrong?" 

"I'm . . . I'm just happy, Jim." 

Lightly, Jim brushed Blair's face with his fingers, tracing the sharp lines of his sideburns as they angled towards his chin. "I plan on making sure you stay that way, Chief." His hands covered Blair's adam's apple, down toward his chest, and his nimble fingers began to unbutton his shirt. Jim pushed the cloth away from his chest and over his shoulders, then dusted light kisses across his guide's nipples. 

Blair moaned and arched his back. Hearing the encouragement, Jim pushed the tip of his tongue through the hairs on Blair's chest, finding his nipple and circling it with wet strokes. His arms captured Blair, pinning him as he opened his mouth, sucking on his nipple and biting down on it with his teeth. Overcome, Blair encircled Jim's head with his arms, bending his head down and whispering, "Jim, I love you. Oh my god, I love you." His voice was so strained it almost sounded like he was crying, and Jim stopped long enough to make sure his partner was all right before returning to his pierced nipple. 

Their hands began to wander across each other's bodies, exploring a territory they had both first glimpsed almost two months ago but had been denied. Jim reached down the dip of Blair's spine, past the edge of his jeans to grip and squeeze the firm muscles of his rear. 

"Jim? . . . Jim?" 

"What?" 

"Your clothes. I can't get them off." 

Jim sat up quickly, pulling his long-sleeved jersey over his head, then rolling onto his back to fight with his boots and then his jeans. He stripped off his boxers, wrestling with them around his ankles so clumsily that Blair had to stop undressing himself just to help his sentinel. 

When they came together, they both gasped at the sensation of naked flesh against naked flesh, the warm, silky feel of smooth skin and tightly-curled body hair, the burning hardness of their stiff cocks pressing into each other's groins. 

* * *

The phone rang at Ian's apartment, and thinking it might be Blair, he smiled as he picked it up. "Hello?" 

"Dr. Ian Yoshito," the hard voice of Dr. Howard Cole spoke, "I see we run into each other again." 

Ian swallowed. 

"I told you not to interfere with Project 57. And I don't particularly appreciate when someone like you doesn't take me seriously." 

Still, Ian couldn't speak, and his stomach began to cramp. 

"Altering James Ellison's MRI scans. Did you think we wouldn't notice this? We know that James Ellison comes by his heightened senses naturally. We only enhanced them. We also know that a Blair Sandburg is currently researching his abilities, and we are eagerly awaiting his results. You can't hide these things from us. We have had them both under surveillance and we have some idea of Ellison's strength." Dr. Cole paused for a moment. "Now, I'm finished playing games with you. I warned you once not to interfere with this project. You apparently didn't believe me. Because of that, I'm placing a censure on your public record for divulging classified information. If you wish to appeal this, you may do so. There will be no sentence applied to this, but if you ever try to apply for any sort of security clearance, you will be automatically denied." 

Ian just closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. 

"And as for falsifying a patient's record, that evidence is being forwarded to your hospital's administration. I'll let them handle it." 

At this, Ian felt his heart stop. 

"Good evening, Dr. Yoshito." Then the line went dead. 

Ian dropped the phone in his lap. First, he was numb and in shock. The shock gave way to fear and panic as his breathing increased into rapid gasps before he covered his face with his hands. 

* * *

Lying on his back with his head cradled softly on Jim's muscled arm, Blair closed his eyes and tried to relax. Jim pressed against his side, kissed Blair on the cheek, on the neck, on the shoulder, then whispered into his ear so that his hot breath would ease him even more. Blair felt exposed and vulnerable with one leg stretched over Jim's hip, this other leg wide apart, leaving him open to Jim's careful fingers. 

"Relax, baby," Jim whispered, and Blair willed it to happen. This was more than a question of relaxation to Blair. Feeling Jim so close to him, the slickness of his smooth skin and the warmth of his body, Jim holding his head in the crook of his elbow, this was all a matter of trust to him. He trusted that Jim would bring pleasure, and that he could return pleasure to his sentinel. Yet the odd feeling of being opened, with Jim's oiled fingers probing inside him, he had to accept that as a form of pleasure, had to take it in his own mind as being pleasure and not an invasion. As he did so, his muscles opened up to Jim's hands. 

Jim didn't take this opening trust lightly. For him, just being able to hold Blair like this, with his arm around him and his fingers inside him, this was pleasure enough. He focused on making this a sensual experience for Blair, reading his pheremones and body heat, the twitch of his eyes and the catch of his breath. He could do this all night, bringing Blair to the brink of orgasm and back with just the barest massage of his prostate. 

"I can't hold back anymore, Jim," Blair whispered. 

"Then let go, baby. Come for me. Let this be my gift to you." 

"No, I want us to be together . . . again." 

Smiling, Jim kissed Blair's temple and slipped his fingers free. Before they had begun, he had placed the condom on his cock, and he coated it with the remaining lubricant from his hand. 

Jim stood over Blair, holding his legs by the backs of his knees and rolling him back. Blair guided Jim's cock while he pushed ever so gently. He had massaged Blair well, and he entered with no pain. Blair's head fell back on the pillow with a groan. 

But Jim wanted closeness tonight. His hands slid under Blair's back, moving under his shoulder blades to cup his shoulders in a tight embrace. His legs folded closer to Blair's sides and Blair's ankles crossed behind Jim's back. 

Then Jim waited, watching the muscles on Blair's face clench and release. 

Blair drifted in the sensations. Jim's grasp on his shoulders was so comforting -- so tight and claiming -- he had never felt this possessed before, this owned. He could feel Jim's strength and mass pressed against his smaller body, but knew that the bulk of Jim's weight rested on his elbows and knees, and this consideration touched him, too. For so long, their body sizes, although not that much different, had always been accentuated by their roles -- Jim, the cop, the sentinel, the Ranger, the Covert-Ops -- and Blair, the student, the professor, the guide, the observer -- a body and spirit dichotomy. Now, they were both bodies, both spirits, joined. 

When he opened his eyes, he saw Jim staring down at him, his blue eyes tender and caring. Blair lifted his head from the pillow slightly to press his lips against Jim's. They kissed, a deep kiss, but slow, like two men taking a drink of water from their souls, attentive but not hungry. They would never be hungry again. Then with a move of his pelvis, Jim pulled out of Blair, slowly. Blair's neck muscles grew weak and his head fell loosely against the pillow with a moan. His eyes closed again, and his entire world became an image of the beach as an ocean wave pulled back into the sea, dragging at him, only to rise with the surf pushing back against his shore, reaching higher and deeper, then dragging back. His breathing began to match Jim's rhythm and he called out Jim's name, squeezing his back muscles with one hand, pressing the other against his firm, round rear. 

For Jim, passing through the ring of Blair's body, feeling it constrict around his shaft as he withdrew, only to relax and open itself with each push, this was his love for Blair, this was their life together, the push and pull, the yin and yang, that had defined them for three years. What had been abstract terms now existed in the touch and feel of their bodies working in unison for each other. 

Blair's body grew tense beneath him. Jim saw his neck muscles strain, then noticed the familiar electric tingling spread across his skin where it made contact with his guide. When he felt the hot splash of Blair coming against his chest and stomach, the smashing wave of sensations began. He tried to remain balanced on his elbows and knees, to keep from crushing Blair, but the moment of Blair's orgasm spreading through him, coupled with his own moment sparking inside his body, defeated him. 

The minute Jim's orgasm began, Blair remembered their first night together and of the power of Jim's senses overwhelmed by his climax. As Jim's body shook and shivered under the onslaught of his nerve endings convulsing with heat and cold flashes and splashes of light, he stroked his back softly, calming him. 

When his body betrayed him, Jim panicked at first. His body quivered and his lungs gasped for breath while his heart pounded in his chest. Yet, he knew he could remain calm, that Blair was there, and the gentle motions of Blair's hands on his back steadied him as he rode the orgasm out, whimpering. 

Once Jim had stopped shaking, Blair whispered, "You okay there, big guy." 

"God, Blair," he huffed. "You're going to kill me one day." 

"Don't plan on it. It's good for the heart." 

Jim tried to pull himself off of Blair, but his muscles were still too weak and he fell back on his guide. "Oooff!" Blair cried. 

"Sorry. I don't mean to crush you." 

"You just stay still. You're not crushing me, except when you move." Then he added, "I'm a lot stronger than you think." 

"You teach me that every day, you know." 

They rested this way for a few moments longer, as Jim languished in the feel of Blair's hands and fingertips playing against the curves and dips of his back muscles and spine. Eventually, he mumbled, "Thank you." 

"Thank you? For what?" 

"For choosing me. For letting us . . . be us." 

"Oh, Jim, you don't--" 

"I didn't think I could compete with Ian much longer." 

"Compete?" Blair thought for a while. "No, it was Ian who couldn't compete with you. I should have realized it long ago and never even gotten him involved in the first place." 

"Hmm." Jim waited, then he said. "I'm glad it happened today." 

"Why today?" 

"The only other romantic thing I could think to do was rent a horse and a suit of armor and have Simon kidnap you so that I could be the knight in shining armor." 

Blair started laughing. "I knew I should have held out a little longer." 

"Maybe for our anniversary." 

Looking up at the ceiling, Blair pondered the idea. "Our anniversary . . . I like the sound of that. . . . What day is that going to be? Our first night together, or the day we met in the hospital when you shoved me up against the wall?" 

Jim lifted himself up slightly, and as he pulled a strand of sweat dampened hair from Blair's face, he answered. "I want it to be today. When you chose me, and when we became . . . together." 

Blair closed his eyes. After a few more moments of relaxing together, Blair asked, "You hungry?" 

"Starving." 

"Let's go make some dinner." 

"Hey, Blair?" 

"What?" 

"Why don't we take a shower first," he said, touching their sticky stomachs. 

"Deal." 

* * *

The water nearly filled the tub before Ian turned it off. Everything was getting foggy now that the demerol tablets he had taken were starting to take effect. Standing nude over the tub, Ian stepped into the water. There was no bath oil, no salt, no fragrance other than the sterile smell of water. The sudden change in his body's temperature as he sank into the hot water made his muscles quiver slightly, and he sank back against the edge. 

For several moments, he stared into the ring of burning candles which hung on the walls behind frosted glass. Blair was gone and was now with Jim. He now had a criminal record of a sort, one that he could appeal, but what would be the point -- he was guilty. And tomorrow, when he walked into the hospital, he would be quickly called before a review board, suspended, censured, maybe even fired, his reputation ruined. 

As the hopelessness edged him on, Ian reached for the scalpel he had placed on the side of the tub earlier that evening. Carefully, and with professional calm and precision, he placed the blade against his left wrist and sliced his arm, toward his elbow. The demerol dimmed the pain of the incision, and Ian easily cut into his other arm. 

Dropping both arms into the bath, Ian slid down further, up to his neck. Dark threads of blood rose from his wounds and began to coil in the water. There was no pain, and Ian drifted off to sleep. 

* * *

Jim shifted in the bed, feeling the comfort of Blair beside him, his arm around Jim's chest. Something was pulling him from sleep, and it was a few seconds before he realized it was a ringing phone. As he reached for it, he woke Blair as well. "Hello? . . . Simon? What's wrong?" At the sound of Simon's name, Blair sat up. Jim said nothing, listening, and then he covered his face with his hand. 

"Jim? What is it?" 

"Thanks, Simon. We'll be right over. I'll explain it to you there." Jim hung up the phone. 

"Jim? What's going on?" 

Jim looked over at his partner in the twilight. "It's Ian," he said finally. Even in the pale light, Jim could see the features of Blair's face express their panic, and he could smell the fear and sense the erratic heartbeat. 

"No," Blair whispered, his voice tight. 

"They received a 911 call. Ian . . . Ian slit his wrists this evening." 

Blair turned away, and Jim touched his shoulder. "They found him at his apartment. He's alive, and he's been taken to Cascade General." 

Finally, Blair breathed. 

"But, Chief, Simon said when they tried to place the report on his suicide, there was already a record established. Earlier today. For divulging classified documents and falsifying a patient's record." 

Without speaking, Blair pulled the sheets back and quietly stepped downstairs to get dressed. 

* * *

The sun was rising as they entered the hospital. Blair and Jim quickly found Simon in the waiting room. He didn't say much to them, but pointed the way to Ian's room for Blair. Jim watched his lover slowly turn toward that direction, his arms crossed and his head down. Then Jim began to pace. 

"Jim, what's going on here? You two act like you know something." 

"Simon, the records he falsified were mine." 

"What?" 

"He did it to protect me." 

"What are you talking about?" 

"Sit down. It's a long story." 

* * *

The light cut at his eyes painfully. Slowly, with some trepidation, Ian opened them, expecting all the holy images of death, only to recognize the hell of reality in the square tiles of the hospital ceiling. He looked at his arms and saw the glaring white bandages and the IV tubes inserted into his veins. The realization began to overwhelm him. Added to all of his troubles was now the public knowledge of an attempted suicide. Ian hid his face, curled on his side and cried out, "Oh, god." 

At the sound of his voice, Blair stepped forward and touched his shoulder. "Ian?" 

He recognized Blair's voice, and the humiliation forced him to cry. 

As he waited outside, Jim paced back and forth, beating himself up inside for what he realized was his fault. When he heard Ian's voice, and Blair trying to console him, Jim fell against the wall and began to knock the back of his head against it until Simon came over to make him stop. 

* * *

A nurse was eventually called in to sedate Ian, and a few minutes later, after Ian had fallen asleep, Blair walked slowly out of the room. Jim was waiting for him, leaning against the wall. Both men had their arms crossed over their chests and down-cast eyes. When Jim recognized the sounds of Blair's heartbeat growing stronger, he looked up. Blair's spirit seemed eternally crushed, his eyes ringed by dark circles and his movements haggard. The pain of remorse and guilt that Jim felt for his part in Ian's suicide only doubled when he realized his guide was feeling the same pain. 

But Blair wasn't avoiding him. In fact he came straight towards Jim, towards the only man who could comfort him now. This made Jim sigh in relief, thinking, /He's coming to me./ He couldn't help but smile slightly in spite of himself. 

Sitting in the hallway with them, Simon watched as Blair crossed the waiting room to his partner. He felt a wave of sympathy for the young man who gripped the flannel of Jim's shirt and pushed his forehead against the center of his chest. And Jim seemed to move so naturally as he wrapped his big arms around the younger man, kissed the top of his head, and held him tight. They held each other like this, not moving, for so long that Simon was surprised when he eventually heard Blair's voice. 

All he could manage to say was Jim's name. 

"I know, baby," Jim said tenderly, moving finally to rub his back. "But this is my fault, okay? You didn't cause this." 

"But I did. I asked him to help us." 

"Let's just focus on getting him better." 

"Jim? What's going to happen next?" 

"You have enough to deal with. I don't want you worrying about it." 

"No. We are in this together. I don't deserve to be blind-sided by it later." 

Giving in, Jim whispered, "Fine. He's going to be investigated, to find out why he altered my medical record. And that's going to bring me into it, because I asked him to do it." 

"Jim, you didn't ask him to do that." 

"Blair, he did it to save my life. To keep these doctors from wanting me back. I might be their only natural sentinel. And when the police realize I asked Ian to falsify my records to look like cancer, it's going to look like insurance fraud." 

Blair pulled his hands free of Jim's shirt and wrapped his arms around his waist, pulling him tighter. "You're right. I didn't need to know this now." 

"I know. I know. We need to take this one step at a time. The first step is to get Ian back on his feet." 

* * *

Jim had sent Blair downstairs to eat something while he waited at Ian's bedside, listening to his breathing. After some time, he noticed that Ian was beginning to wake, and when he saw Ian shift slightly, Jim leaned forward. Ian opened his eyes, focusing on his former rival. "Jim?" 

"Hey, doc. How are you feeling?" 

"Humiliated." 

Jim gave him a closed mouth smile. 

"It's good of you to wait with Blair." 

"I'm not here just because of Blair." 

"Oh. I guess I'm under arrest." 

"No. Neither of us are. Not yet anyway." 

"What do you mean . . . us?" 

"I'm not letting you take all the blame for this. I'm the reason you falsified my medical records." 

"Jim, that's noble of you, but I won't hear of it. I did that to redeem myself, for all the crimes I did against those innocent men who died because of me. You didn't ask to be a test subject." 

"We'll worry about this later. The first thing is to get you better." 

Ian closed his eyes for a moment, resting. Jim thought he had fallen asleep again, but suddenly Ian said, "Jim, I appreciate the sentiments, but you and Blair don't have to stay here all night. I didn't do this . . . to get attention or . . . to make Blair come back to me." 

"We know that." 

"You two belong together." 

"Ian, whether you like it or not, Blair's not going to just walk away from you. I don't make friends as easily as he does, but Blair . . . he's taught me how to relax around people, and trust them. Don't think that because he . . . and I . . . are together that he's going to stop being close to you. And this is all new to us. We need to know people like you, to be friends with." 

Both became silent again. Then Ian asked, "How did they . . . find me?" 

"Simon says they got a 911 call. From a Doctor Howard Cole. Do you know him?" 

Ian squeezed his eyes closed. "He's the monster in charge of Project 57, the project that's doing all the testing. He's the one who alerted the hospital board to the change in medical records. He must have made the call, guessed what I'd do, or maybe to embarrass me, or threaten me even." 

"Oh." 

Later that night, Jim stretched out in the chair near Ian's bed, his feet propped on an ottoman. Blair had stretched out across his sentinel's chest and fallen asleep. Jim couldn't sleep, though. His mind continued to run through some of the things Ian had said. Around 4 a.m., Blair shifted in his sleep. 

"Blair?" 

"Hmm?" 

"Wake up, babe. I need to get up." 

"Where are you going?" 

"I need to go by the station. I won't be long." 

* * *

Jim pulled up the 911 report. Dr. Cole had identified himself, then informed the dispatcher where Ian lived and that he suspected him of wanting to commit suicide. He even gave the dispatcher his telephone number in case he needed to be contacted again. 

Jim looked at his watch. It was already past 8 o'clock on the East Coast. He dialed the number and waited for a response. 

"Dr. Cole's office," a man's voice answered. "Can I help you?" 

"This is the Cascade, Washington police department. I'm calling concerning a 911 call which Dr. Cole placed two nights ago. Is he in, please." 

"He's busy at the moment. Can I take a message?" 

"I'll need to hold. Can you interrupt him? This is a police matter." 

"Hold on one minute." 

Jim fiddled with his pencil. He had spent most of the night thinking of this moment, what he would say, how he would do this. The voice on the other end of the line brought him back to focus. 

"This is Dr. Cole. Can I help you?" 

"Dr. Howard Cole?" 

"Yes." 

"This is Detective Jim Ellison." He waited for his name to register, listening to the doctor's heartbeat through the phone. "I just wanted to inform you that we did find Dr. Ian Yoshito at his apartment, and we were able to save his life." 

"That's good, detective. Is that all?" 

"No. We will need to proceed with the insurance fraud case, and we will need your assistance." 

"What insurance fraud?" 

"The Cascade police department believes he altered those medical records to be able to claim insurance money." Then Jim added, "I believe you realize that I will have to testify on his behalf, and explain why Dr. Yoshito felt he had to alter them." 

"And?" 

"And when I come forward, I will be frank about why we did this, as well as who's responsible." 

"Oh really? I don't think you'd take that risk. You wouldn't make your abilities public knowledge, subject yourself to all the attention that would attract. The media would treat you like a freak of nature." 

"I wouldn't be a freak of nature if it weren't for monsters like yourself, Dr. Cole." 

"James Ellison, we both know you are a natural born hypersensitive. We only enhanced your abilities." 

"At the cost of how many men? Men like Tom Poulsen, whose body lies in a monastery here, that can easily be tested to verify what I'm saying?" 

"Are you threatening me, Mr. Ellison? I can tell you that I don't respond well to threats." 

"Not threatening you, sir. Just doing my job, as a cop and a soldier, informing a superior what's about to happen." 

The line went dead, and Jim slowly dropped the phone onto the receiver. 

* * *

The sunset held most of Jim's attention that afternoon while Blair tried to keep Ian's mind occupied. The past few days had been rainy and overcast, but as if by chance, the cloud layer broke that afternoon into a mottled patchwork of gray, white and blue, late enough so that Cascade could enjoy maybe an hour of sunlight before nightfall. Jim leaned against the window frame with his arms crossed, watching. 

At Ian's bedside, Blair rattled on about a tribe in Indonesia he had read about in an anthropology journal, and how they had begun to place an increasingly materialistic importance on what they sacrificed to their ancestors. Their sacrifices were becoming more and more expensive, and now the economic burden was crushing their culture. This had sparked a discussion between the two, comparing the primitive tribe to Western culture's need for expensive goods. Jim felt out of place in the discussion. He understood each of their points, but he was a little amazed at how quickly the men could pull these observations out of the air. Jim was proud of Blair, that this young man had such a lightning fast mind and that he could finally claim him as his own, but at the same time, he felt a bit insecure as he watched the two men so engaged with each other. /I can't offer you this, Blair./ 

A sharp rap on the door side-tracked Jim's self-critical thoughts. All three men expected a nurse or doctor, but they were a little surprised by the middle-aged woman in a navy blue business suit entering the room. 

"Dr. Simmons," Ian said, obviously uncomfortable. 

"Dr. Yoshito," she said with a deep, gravel voice. "How are you feeling?" 

"I'm--" he searched for a tactful description, "better today than I was yesterday." 

She smiled slightly. "I understand." She saw Blair and Jim, and added, "I'm Dr. Melissa Simmons. I'm the hospital's administrator." She held her hand out for Blair. 

He shook it, saying, "Blair Sandburg." 

Then Jim leaned over. "Jim Ellison." 

"Detective, right?" 

"Yes." 

"I remember meeting you . . . at one of the mayor's functions." 

"Oh." Jim was a little taken aback, impressed by her memory because he certainly didn't remember her. "Do we need to leave?" 

"No, that's all right. I came to offer my apologies, Dr. Yoshito, on behalf of the hospital." 

"Your apologies?" Ian asked. 

"Yes. I just received a call from the Pershing Medical Center in Rallingsburg, Virginia. They claimed there was a mix up in the MRI scans they received. It was their misreading of the data which made it appear that you had altered the files. I'm deeply sorry for the confusion and for the stress this has put on you." 

Ian was speechless. He looked over at Blair, who was equally surprised. Only Jim seemed controlled. "Thank you, Dr. Simmons," Ian said finally. 

"I also wanted to reassure you that your position is unchanged with our hospital, but I want to encourage you to take some time off, a leave-of-absence perhaps. You've been under a great deal of stress, what with the unfortunate incident with Dr. Catherine Gould and now this. I want you to feel comfortable when you return." Ian recognized her comments as a tactful way of saying she still expected him to seek psychiatric help for his suicide attempt. 

"I plan to, Dr. Simmons. I know of a clinic in St. Moritz where I have suggested patients before." 

"St. Moritz? I think that would be good. Get out of Cascade for a while." Dr. Simmons looked over at the others for a moment. "Well, if you'll excuse me. This hospital is a busy place to run." She smiled gracefully before leaving. 

"What was that about?" Blair asked. 

"I . . . I don't know. I don't know how to take that. Are they . . . playing with me?" 

"Don't focus on it," Jim said as he placed his hands on Blair's shoulders. "I doubt these guys would want the media coverage that an investigation would bring, especially if we were going to fight it." 

"I wasn't planning on fighting it," Ian said softly, looking down at his bandages. 

"I was," Jim said. 

Blair looked up at his partner. He had come a long way from being the hard-assed cop who had tried to convince Blair that Ian was a serial killer to someone who'd risk his career for this man, this rival for his lover's attention. He twisted around and squeezed Jim tight. "Thanks, big guy." 

Ian noticed the two men holding each other. It pained him a little, thinking that he'd lost Blair. /I should be happy, though. Blair's finally happy . . . and safe./ 

"Jim?" 

"Yes, Ian." 

"Will you do me a favor?" 

"What?" 

"I need some space tonight. To be by myself. Will you take Blair out to dinner?" 

"Yeah, I think we can do that," he said with a smile to his partner. 

Blair reached for Ian's hand. "Are you sure you'll be all right without us?" 

"I'm fine, Blair. I don't think I'll be trying to hurt myself again. And Jim?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Make sure he gets some sleep tonight." 

* * *

Six weeks later, both men spent a lazy Sunday afternoon on the couch. Blair lay with his head in Jim's lap, reading a book. Jim sat with his legs stretched out on the coffee table and his ankles crossed, pushing one thigh higher than the other to make a slight pillow for Blair. He kept one hand lying possessively on Blair's chest while he thumbed the remote, flipping from channel to channel. The volume was too low for Blair to hear but comfortable for Jim. Occasionally, he would peer down at his partner who was engrossed in his book. His long hair fanned out across Jim's lap, and his glasses kept sliding down the bridge of his nose, forcing Blair to stop every so often to push them back. 

Jim mused for a while. The past six weeks had been comfortable for both of them. No poetry-quoting serial killers. No vindictive sharpshooters. Just the two of them, spending their nights together. Jim had moved Blair into the upstairs bedroom, and only some of Blair's clothes and all of his books remained in what was now the guest bedroom. In the past he had wondered what it would be like, to be his "partner," and for the most part, his predictions had come true. Their working relationship hadn't changed much -- Jim was still very much controlling and demanding. Blair continued to flirt with every woman who walked by, but it was more from habit. The first time a woman responded to Blair's charms, Blair acted like the dog who caught his first car -- "Now what do I do with it?" He blushed and tried to talk his way out of it while Jim stood some distance away with his arms crossed, enjoying the show. No one except Simon seemed to notice a change. 

Each night when they came home, both men relaxed around each other. The house rules remained in place. They still argued over dropped clothes, staining spills, loud tribal music. But to keep from becoming an old married couple after just six weeks together, they made sure that Saturday was still date night. Even so, Jim felt he had made the right choice. He still found himself awake at night, staring up at the ceiling and worrying about what would happen if their relationship became public knowledge. He didn't know if Blair wanted an open relationship or not, although Blair said he understood Jim's fears. 

And Blair returned to academic life. He spent more nights either at the library or at home with his face in a book. Jim wasn't too sure how he should take that. For one, he was glad to see him working on his dissertation again. But secondly, he was sad they weren't spending as much time together. To his credit, Blair quickly picked up on Jim's poorly repressed sadness, and now when he worked at home, he always did so within Jim's reach. 

Jim glanced down at Blair again. His mind was still miles away, but as always, Jim could touch him. Jim rubbed his chest gently and returned to watching television. 

The telephone startled both of them. Jim picked up the phone and immediately handed it to Blair. Frowning slightly, Blair didn't argue with him as he set his book aside. "Hello?" Suddenly, Blair pulled himself up. Jim wrapped his arms around his waist to keep him steady. "Ian? Where are you?" 

Jim could easily hear Ian's reply. "I just got back last night." 

"How . . . how are you?" 

"Oh, I'm fine. I return to work next week." 

"Really? Are you down with that?" 

"I'm fine. I called to see how you and Jim were doing." 

"We're both great. Haven't had any trouble at all." 

"Good. That's good." 

"Hey, Ian, what are you doing next Saturday?" 

Jim pinched Blair's arm, then raised a questioning eyebrow when he got his guide's attention. 

"Nothing. My calendar's free. Why?" 

"Do you want to have dinner with us?" 

Ian paused for a moment. "I think that would be nice." 

"Good. How about Little Sicily? 7 o'clock. That's pretty casual." 

"Sure. The one near the park?" 

"Yeah. Oh, and Ian, how about wear that blue flannel shirt you look so good in." Jim really pinched Blair's arm hard this time. Blair covered the phone and snapped, "Jim, stop it!" 

"Blair, what are you up to?" Ian asked. 

"Nothing," Blair returned to the telephone conversation, waving Jim off. "I might bring someone else, if you didn't mind." 

"Blair." 

"Ian, don't question me. It'll be fun." 

Ian sighed heavily on the other line. "Fine, then. I'll see you guys there." 

Blair immediately started dialing a second number. "Chief, what are you doing?" 

"Something I should have done a long time ago." 

Jim heard a familiar southern accent on the other end of the phone. "Hello?" 

"Hey, Collin, it's Blair." 

"Oh my god, you've crawled out from underneath your boyfriend long enough to talk to me." 

"Shut up. What are you doing Saturday night?" 

"Grading papers. What are you doing?" 

"Put that off for now. Come join us for dinner." 

"Where at?" 

"Little Sicily. 7 o'clock." 

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" 

"I want you to meet someone." 

"Blair, you little matchmaker, you." 

"Stop it. It's not like that. I just think you guys have a lot in common." 

"Fine, no sense arguing with you. I'll be there with bells on." 

"Great. See ya then." 

Blair handed the phone back to Jim, then settled down to finish reading. Jim dropped the phone back into its cradle. He lifted one leg up, propping his heel against the edge of the coffee table, all to lift Blair's head up a little before he pushed his book away. "Mind telling me what's going on, Darwin?" 

"Just trying to get two single men together." 

"I see. Collin and Ian, huh?" 

"Don't you think they'd be a good couple?" 

Jim frowned. 

"What? You don't like Collin?" 

"I just think he's a little fey, that's all." 

"Jim Ellison, when did you learn a word like 'fey'?" 

He rolled his eyes. "Thanks for the vote of intellectual confidence, Chief." 

Blair spun around and wrapped his arms around Jim's waist. "I'm just teasing you. Besides, I like Collin. He's cute, he's got a great sense of humor, and he's really smart. And I know Ian likes us long-haired academic types. I think they'd be great together." 

"Two weird accents in one room, Chief. I don't know." 

Blair forced down a laugh. "Jim, they both think _we_ have weird accents." 

"I don't have an accent." 

"Yeah, tell that to Ian and Collin." Then Blair began to test their names, "Ian and Collin, Ian and Collin. . . . I think that sounds pretty good. I bet none of my family ever thought I'd turn into a yenta." 

"A what-a?" 

"A match-maker." 

"Well, you don't look like Barbra Streisand . . . except for the hair." 

"That's Yentl," he said before silencing their argument with a kiss. 

* * *

Jim and Blair were the first to arrive at Little Sicily, and they sat down in a booth towards the back, both on the same side of the table. "People will talk," Jim teased. 

"Does that really bother you?" 

"Just scares me. That's all. I don't want you to get hurt." 

"I won't get hurt." 

"Cops can get pretty mean." 

"Not when I'm dating the biggest bruiser in the bullpen." 

Jim grinned and added, "You just make sure it stays that way." 

A moment later, Ian stepped up. "Well, I was afraid I wouldn't see this when I got back." 

As he sat down, Blair noticed with a smile that he was wearing his blue flannel shirt. "What, did you think we wouldn't stay together?" 

"Just afraid something bad might have happened while I was gone." 

Blair noticed that the long sleeves were buttoned at the wrists, covering his scars. He asked, "So how are you?" 

"I'm much better thank you. Six weeks in Europe will do a man a world of good." 

"I'm glad. They don't . . . have you on anything do they?" 

"No. They prescribed proxac, but I think we all know why I did what I did, and as long as that's not a problem hanging over my head, I'll be fine." 

"Good. We worried." 

"I'm fine. Really." Ian reached into his pocket and pulled out two small boxes. "I brought you guys back something." 

"Ian, you didn't have to do this." 

"Of course I did." 

Both men began to open the small boxes. Blair was the first to ask as he pulled out a chain with a small oval medallion on it. "What is this?" 

Jim answered while looking at his, "These are St. Christopher's medals, Chief. They're supposed to grant good luck to travelers." 

"I assumed you two would both need as much luck as possible," Ian said with a subtle, reserved smile. 

"Here," Blair turned his back to Jim while handing him the necklace. "Help me put this on." 

"Consider it a thank you," Ian said. "To you both." 

"Ian, we're the ones who should be saying thank you," Jim replied. 

Just then, Blair recognized Collin entering the restaurant, and he waved to get his attention. "Collin, this is a good friend of ours, Ian Yoshito. Ian, this is Collin MacPherson. He's working on his dissertation at Rainier with me." 

Ian rose slightly in his seat as he held out his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you." 

On hearing Ian's British accent, Collin quipped while shaking his hand, "My, but you ain't from around here, are you?" 

Ian couldn't help but smile back. "I would gather the same is true for you." 

"Just a bit," he replied, gradually letting go of his hand and sitting down. 

"What part of the South is your home?" 

"Beaufort, South Carolina." 

"I've been there," Ian said. "Beautiful place. I visited a friend who lived in Charleston at the time, and we drove down to see all the old buildings. What would make you move to a place like this?" 

"Today in Atlanta the high was 96. Humidity was at 80%. Kinda dry for this time of the year." He looked at his watch. "And right about now the temperature's probably 80 degrees even though it's nighttime and even though they're probably having one hell of a heat storm -- all lightning and thunder with no rain. While today we had a slight sprinkle this morning and a high of 72." 

"Well said. What are you reading for your doctorate?" 

"Oh, I wouldn't want to bore you." 

"Try me." 

"Homoerotic elements in William Faulkner's fiction." 

"I don't think that's boring. Which particular books?" 

Blair eyed Jim with a sly glance, and both of them tried to hide their smiles. The remainder of the evening passed as Blair tried to get some conversation in while Jim remained the quiet observer. Blair for the most part kept one hand on Jim's inner thigh, and every so often Jim would reach down and twine their fingers together. Dinner proceeded through salads, entrees, desserts and a long, extended stay through coffee. Blair leaned over to whisper to Jim, "You should hold back on the coffee. You know what caffeine does to you." 

"Hmm. I know what caffeine would _make_ me do to you." 

"Would you like another cup?" 

When the waiter approached to close the bill, he asked, "Four checks? Two checks? One?" 

Collin and Blair instantly answered, "Four," while at the same time, Jim and Ian said, "Two." 

Collin eyed Ian with a strange expression, to which Ian offered, "May I?" 

"I hardly know you. I wouldn't feel comfortable being beholden to you so soon." 

Blair leaned over to the waiter to interrupt the argument, "Please make that four checks." 

"Wait," Jim said. "Three checks. I'll take care of Blair's." 

"I can take care of my own." 

"When was the last time I bought you dinner?" 

"Hello? It was the last time we went out." 

"Save the money for something else." 

"Don't be so paternalistic. I want to pay for my own dinner." 

"Can't I at least do something nice for you for a change?" Jim asked. 

"Jim, you are like always buying my meals." 

Jim started to defend himself when he felt two sets of eyes glaring at him from the other side of the table. Both Blair and Jim looked over to see Collin and Ian staring angrily at them. Ian was the first to speak. "Are the two of you making fun of us?" 

"You wound me, Blair," Collin added. "You really wound me." 

The waiter just rolled his eyes. "Why don't I leave you guys four checks and everyone can arm wrestle for them?" He left to print out the bills, shaking his head as he did. 

"Hey, guys," Blair began, "we always fight over the bill." 

"Whatever, Blair," Collin said with a wave of his hand. 

"No, I'm serious. Tell them, Jim." 

"He never acts like this at home," Jim said with a deadpanned delivery. 

Blair dropped his jaw. 

Ian came to his rescue, though, as he took their bills from the waiter. "Well, I can tell you that he does. All the time." He checked each bill, finding his, then handed a bill to Collin, then to Blair and Jim. "It must be a dissertation thing." 

"It's an independence thing," Collin said gently. "And a matter of pride." 

"My apologies," Ian replied, his head down a little but his eyes upcast with such an expression that Collin started to smile. "May I make it up to you? Say, lunch some time next week?" 

"I believe I can fit you into my busy social calendar." 

Underneath the table, Blair squeezed Jim's hand. 

* * *

When they got home, Blair held the elevator door open, waiting for Jim to finish grabbing their mail from the box. "What, you weren't down here at 2:04 after the mailman put it in there at 2?" 

Nonchalant about his reply as he walked into the elevator, checking the address labels on each envelope, Jim answered, "As I recall, I was busy at 2." The elevator door closed behind him and he leaned over to give Blair a soft kiss on the forehead. 

"I don't remember complaining, either." Blair noticed a magazine in Jim's hand. "Hey, what's that?" He pulled it loose from his grip. "Gardening Magazine?" 

"I just got a subscription for it." As the elevator door opened, Jim held it back for Blair to walk through first. "Thought I'd give you and Tom a hand. You're gonna need all the help you can get to turn _me_ into a gardener." 

"You mean it? You're really going to try?" 

"Yeah. You made a promise to Tom, didn't you?" 

"Well, yes." 

"And you've been trying to figure out how to get me to do it, haven't you?" 

"Yes." Blair admitted as he unlocked their door. "I just didn't know how to bring it up." 

"Has it been bothering you?" 

Blair shrugged his shoulders. "Some." 

"I put enough stress on you by being a cop. I certainly don't want you to feel stress for a promise you made to a friend just because I'm being a jerk about it. I figure I can kill enough plants until you and Tom can feel like you've given it your best shot." 

"Jim, you can't go into it like that. Of course you'll kill the plants, then. But Tom said that gardening was an extension of prayer and meditation. It can really help you relax and center yourself, especially if you start having problems with zone-outs or a case starts to really get you down." 

"Sure, Chief. Sure. You just keep believing that." 

Jim closed the door behind him, and Blair suddenly grabbed him, knocking him against the door. "Besides, I think it's something we could do together." 

"Gardening, huh? You'd want to play in the dirt with me?" Jim pulled Blair tight and started to rock him back and forth. 

"And how." 

"And what would you plant?" 

Blair cupped his hand around Jim's crotch. "Goldenrods," he whispered. 

Laughing, Jim goaded him on. "What else?" 

Then Blair popped open Jim's jeans, tugging on his fly. "Snapdragons." 

"Keep going, Darwin," Jim said, pushing Blair back toward the sofa. 

"I especially like morning glories." 

"I like this kind of botany lesson." Jim kissed him, their lips pursed and tongues fighting. 

When they broke apart, Blair whispered, "Keep stalling. I'm trying to think of more." 

"One of those better not be pansies." 

Blair could only roll his eyes before Jim pressed him down onto the sofa cushions. Tracing his finger along the bulge in Jim's boxers, Blair winked and said, "I have one. Rose." 

Jim laid his weight across Blair's body. "I like these kinds of flowers. Are they pressed flowers?" 

"Pressed," Blair kissed him. "Arranged." Another kiss. "Scented." Kiss again. "Then dried." 

Nuzzling his neck before marking Blair hard enough for him to grab at the back of Jim's head, the sentinel said, "Who would have thought that we had such green thumbs?" 

"I certainly have an eye for beauty." 

Smiling, Jim added, "And I waited over three years to get you, almost four. Does that count for patience?" 

"You have control. I'll give you that." 

"You give me a lot of things, Blair. I intend to make it my life to give it all back to you." Slowly Jim unbuttoned Blair's shirt. "Day . . . by day . . . by day." 

FINIS 

* * *

Thanks to everyone in the group for all the encouragement. When I started this monster in April, I had no idea it would turn into this. 

And the boys won't be quiet! So . . . 

Coming next: Loving You Less Than Life III (I - III): A dark stranger arrives in Cascade with a sinister plan, and to succeed, he must separate the Sentinel from his Guide. Can Jim and Blair remain together long enough to defeat him? 

* * *

End Loving You Less Than Life III.


End file.
